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VOL. I. 







&c. &c. 

" little did my mither ken, 
The day she cradled me, 
The lands I was to travel in — 
Or the death I was to dee ! " 

Old Ballad. 

VOL. I. 




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Ni. 1 




VOL. I. 




" Some waif washed up with the strays and spars, 
That ebb-tide shows to the shore and the stars : 
Weeds from tlie water, grass from a grave, 
A broken blossom, a ruined rhyme !" 


rjlHE Boulogne train had sped through 
-*- the suburbs of Paris, and left the 
last white- walled villa, the last trim garden, 
of Paris behind ; the six travellers in one 
particular compartment of one particular 
carriage were doing very much as the 

B 2 


majority of travellers all tlie length of tlie 
long train were doing ; that is to say, they 
had " settled " themselves and their bag- 
gage, and were mentally taking notes of 
each other's appearance. Two of these 
travellers, however, must be excepted from 
this general statement ; the elderly French 
couple were taking no notes of anybody or 
anything, but were composing themselves 
to sleep; and the attention their fellow- 
passengers bestowed on them was but 
brief, as Madame merely presented the 
appearance of a bundle of shawls and a 
brown gauze veil, and Monsieur of a tight- 
ly buttoned coat, a shaven double chin, 
and a dark grizzled moustache — the rest of 
his face being hidden in the wide-awake 
that was slouched down over his eyes to 
keep off the sun. 


The remaining four passengers were an 
unmistakably British family of three — 
father, mother, and little girl — and a some- 
what peculiar-looking gentleman at whom 
the united family were stealing glances at 
discreet opportunities, and who — at equally 
decorous intervals and with equally scru- 
pulous carefulness not to catch their eyes — 
was returning their attention. 

Travellers may be divided broadly into 
three classes — those who utterly ignore the 
existence of their f ellow- voyagers ; those 
who regard them as natural enemies, 
whose very existence is an offence ; and 
those who look upon them with a moderately 
friendly curiosity, take some interest in 
their physiognomical characteristics, enjoy 
solving the problem of their nationality, 
and make acquaintance with them readily. 


The British family belonged to this latter 
class ; and so — on this occasion, at least, 
though it might not be his normal con- 
dition — did the grey-coated, bearded 
stranger of peculiar aspect. 

He was not peculiar by reason of his 
attractions, for he was not handsome at all ; 
nor was there anything picturesque about 
him save the abundant waves of hair, dark 
and curling, which were pushed away from 
his brow under the black felt wide-awake. 
His beard was a shade or two lighter than 
his hair, and he cultivated a somewhat 
heavy moustache. Any peculiarity in his 
appearance was partly attributable to the 
uncommon expression of not very un- 
common features, an expression at once 
abstracted and keenly perceptive, gloomy 
and yet not unsympathetic — partly to 


something in the large, deep-set eyes, 
which puzzled strangers at first, until they 
came to notice that one of those eyes was 
a light grey, the other a darker hazel. He 
might have been any age from thirty to 
forty-five ; he might have belonged to almost 
any nation ; and as he had not opened his 
lips, his curious fellow-passengers were 
somewhat exercised in their minds on the 
subject of his nationality. The lady had 
whispered to her husband, " Not English, 
surely ?" and whether or not the stranger 
had heard or understood the remark, he 
had taken no notice of it. 

The little girl — Katie Craven, a pretty 
blonde child, gaily and carefully dressed, 
and evidently her parents' pet and pride — 
began chattering, asking when they should 
reach Amiens ; whether there would be at 


Amiens " a lovely buffet like there was at 
Macon ;" wliether they should dine at 
Boulogne, and so on. The solitary silent 
traveller was looking at the child while 
she babbled on, and the mother, catching 
a very tender and rather sad smile slowly 
softening his face, regarded him sympa- 
thetically, and wished to address him, but 
was not sure whether she should venture 
on her rather uncertain French, or her 
still more doubtful German. He solved 
the difficulty by addressing her in a per- 
fectly pure English accent. 

"Your little girl is young to travel. She 
is your eldest ?" 

'' My only one." 

" How old ?" 
- " She is eleven." 

" An only child !" repeated the gentle- 


man — " I have an only child a year 
younger than yours." 

" And a great pet I dare say she is," 
observed Mrs. Craven sympathetically, 
becoming more interested in their fellow- 

" I daresay she will be," he replied, 
smiling, but somewhat coldly. " I have 
not seen her since she was a baby. — Is it 
your little girl's first trip abroad ?" he 
asked, after a pause, as if sociably inclined 
for the ball of conversation to be kept 

*•' Yes ; she is a spoilt pet, and we 
could not leave her behind." 

"We have been all over Switzerland, 
and I walked over the Col de Balme all 
the way, and mamma had a mule," said 
the little girl, evidently minded to take 
her share in the discussion. 


" Have you also been doing Switzer- 
land, sir?" inquired Mr. Craven, putting 
down the '' Indicateur" he had been study- 
ing, and manifesting that he too was dis- 
posed that the conversation should not 

It did not drop, but rolled on smoothly, 
with occasional breaks and intervals, and 
now and then shuntings of subject from 
one line to another, until they reached 
Amiens. During this period the solitary 
traveller had learnt the entire history of 
the family's Swiss tour, from their taking 
the night express to Geneva to their ascent 
of the E-igi, and their returning route via 
Basle and Strasbourg ; and little Katie 
had exhibited to him her Alpenstock, 
stamped with the list of names, the point 
of which she nearly poked into the somno- 


leut Frencliman's eye. The family had 
not learnt so much about the* solitary tra- 
veller, but what they had learnt had in- 
terested them, as it appeared that he had 
come recently from Venice, but, beyond 
that, from India, China, and, in fact, 
literally all round the ^Yorld. The Cravens 
never having been beyond the beaten 
track of the tourist through Paris and 
Switzerland, and that only twice in their 
lives — once on their wedding tour, and 
once again now — were naturally interested 
in this traveller who had travelled so far. 

At Amiens there was the usual rush 
made for the buffet ; a tide of passengers, 
chiefly male, setting towards the table 
where the hot soui^ was ladled out ; an- 
other tide, chiefly female, flowing along 
the counter, where fruits, and cakes, and 


pates were set f ortli in tempting array ; a 
general eddy of all ages, classes, and sexes 
around the marble slab sacred to wines 
and liqueurs ; a back-wave of hurried or 
timorous travellers sweeping back, with 
their hands full of brioches, and flacons, 
and little baskets of fruit, towards the 
platform, in great haste lest the train 
should go off without them ; then, towards 
the last minute, a general stampede for 
the train, and much anxiety in everybody's 
mind to discover their own carriage, where 
their own wraps and umbrellas and small 
baggage had been left. The Cravens be- 
stowed themselves safely, and then began 
to look out for their new acquaintance, 
who did not make his appearance till the 
very last moment, and only just as the 
guard came along, banging the doors, and 


Mrs. Craven cried out excitedly, " Here ! 
here ! make baste !" lie stepped coolly up 
into the carriage. 

The whole quartette appeared to be 
rather more than less sociably inclined 
after their hasty pretence of a luncheon — 
a meal which was, however, still in pro- 
gress of demolition, its second course not 
having been disposed of in the hurry of 
the buffet. The little girl had her hands 
full of apricots ; Mrs. Craven was making 
her way leisurely, and w^ith an appetite 
refreshingly good to see, through the con- 
tents of a bag of sweet cakes ; Madame in 
the corner, still looking half asleep, held a 
huge ham sandwich drowsily in one hand ; 
Mr. Craven, with a prudent eye for the 
coming hour, had got a small flask of 
" fine champagne cognac." 


" For the boat," as lie explained, with a 
confidential nod. " You are going to 
cross, I suppose ?" lie added. 

" Yes," replied the stranger, " I am 
going to London, to see my little girl. 
Your child reminds me of her. She has 
fair hair — I think." 

He added the last two words with rather 
a gloomy air, and kind-hearted Mrs. Craven 
instantly fell to reflecting how sad it would 
be if she had never seen her little Katie 
since she had been a baby ! Suppose she 
did not even know the shade of Katie's 
hair ! Yet such separations were ; parents 
and children were sometimes parted ; and 
thinking of these things, she smoothed out 
the flaxen tresses that were so carefully 
crimped and waved over her darling's 
shoulders, and, looking at the stranger, 


wondered whether his child had a mother 

In order to make room for little Kate to 
sit by the window, the gentleman moved 
to one side, took a valise that stood beside 
him on his knee, and leaned his crossed 
arms upon it. 

" Won't you put that up in the netting? 
— isn't it heavy ?" asked Mr. Craven. 

"No — it's a good elbow-cushion," the 
other replied, smiling in his usual way — a 
slight smile, almost the shadow of a smile, 
but pleasant and gentle withal. 

" You are a compatriot of my wife's, I 
see," observed Mr. Craven, sociably, evi- 
dently settling himself for a pleasant gos- 
sip to beguile the time. 

" A compatriot ? — how ?" 

" My wife was a Scotch lassie by birth, 


and that (your name, I presume ?) is a 
Scotcli name," replied Mr. Craven, pointing 
to the label tied on to the valise, which 
bore the words : 

" Glencaim, 

Paris a Londres." 

" I may be Scotch for aught I know," 
the gentleman replied ; " but as I never to 
my own knowledge had any parents, I am 
uncertain upon the point of my nation- 

Mr. and Mrs. Craven did not understand 
this at all. They said with a puzzled air, 
"Yes?" and "Indeed?" and then Mrs. 
Craven observed in an undecided, half- 
questioning way, 

"Left an orphan very young, I sup- 
pose ?" 

" Yes ; but at what age I can't exactly 


tell. I have the doubtful blessing of not 
knowing my own birthday." 

This puzzled Mr. and Mrs. Craven still 
more. They looked bewildered and per- 
plexed ; and Mr. Glencairn smiled with a 
half-amused air. 

" Well, I'll tell you how it was," he said, 
narratively, with an unusual expansion of 
confidence. " It's a curious story, too. 
Amongst the hundreds of wrecks that 
make no sensation, that are just briefly 
chronicled and forgotten, the ship Glen- 
cahii was wrecked in the South Atlantic — 
years ago. Very few remember it now. 
The people took to the boats, but only one 
boat was saved. In that boat there were 
some sailors, a woman and a child. The 
woman died; so did two of the sailors. 
Oddly enough, while strong men died, the 

VOL. I. c 


child lived. I was that child. None of 
the survivors seem to have known the 
woman's name, and I was too young to 
tell them — a mere baby. I suppose she 
was my mother ; but even that isn't cer- 
tain. The only thing certain is that I and 
three sailors lived." 

" Good gracious !" exclaimed Mrs. Craven, 
as if her breath was fairly taken away. 

" A most remarkable thing," said her 
husband, appearing deeply interested ; 
while Kate was staring at the narrator 
with wide-open blue eyes, as if he were the 
hero of a fairy-tale. 

"But did you never know anything of 
your father, then ?" asked the lady. 

" Nothing; except that, whoever he was, 
he was not in that boat." 

" And is there no clue to your name or 
parentage at all?" 


"No. People saved from shipwreck 
by niglit, you know, don't always have 
pocket-books or letters about tliem. I 
daresay my mother — she who was probably 
my mother, that is — would have left in- 
structions about me if she had thought I 
should be saved, and if she had been Eng- 
lish. But she was a foreign woman alone 
among English sailors ; and if she had any 
friends they were in the other boats, which 
were never heard of more. So I was 
launched in life with no name, no parents, 
no country. It is not a cheerful begin- 

" How dreadful ! — how very sad !" said 
Mrs. Craven. 

" You took the name of the ship, then?" 
said her husband. 

" Yes. They used to call me Tommy 

c 2 

20 CtLenoaien. 

Glencairn — but I didn't hold much to the 
Tommy. Glencairn is the name I have 
taken, after the ship that is the only parent 
I ever could trace. Glencairn is the name 
I am always known and addressed by — 
though in business letters I sign the initial 
T. That's the story of my name." 

"A most interesting story," said the 
sympathetic lady. 

Mr. Craven was silent, trying to find 
flaws in the consistency of the anecdote, 
in which he did not place quite such im- 
plicit faith as his wife. Mr. Glencairn, 
probably reading the tenor of his neigh- 
bour's thoughts, smiled quietly to himself. 
However the acquaintance progressed 
favourably and rapidly; and that night, 
when they had arrived at their home 
(having parted from their fellow-traveller 


with an exchange of cards and addresses, 
and mutual promises to call and renew the 
acquaintance), Mr. Craven kept continually 
being struck by new ideas as to questions 
lie might have put, and suggestions he 
might have made, with a view to eliciting 
the exact amount of truth in Glencairn's 

" I wish I'd asked him the name of the 
captain of the ship, and whether they 
couldn't have got a list of the passengers 
at Lloyd's," said Mr. Craven, meditatively, 
being a man who was always interested in 
his neighbour's affairs. 

"Perhaps it was a foreign ship," sug- 
gested his wife, who was determined to 
believe every word of the story. 

Meanwhile Glencairn, who had related 
only the simple truth, unexaggerated and 


unembellislied, went on his way to the ten- 
years-old daughter (whom, since she had 
been a toddling white-frocked, blue-eyed 
baby of little more than a year old, he had 
never seen), the last look he had fixed 
on whose baby face he could never bear to 
think of, linked as it was with the bitterest 
memory of his life. 

She had been as a dream to him for 
years past — a dream that he was going 
now to realise. It could scarcely be said 
that he loved her, for she was in his mind 
a vague and changing vision, that some- 
times looked at him with her mother's 
eyes, and sometimes seemed a fair and 
feminine image of himself. He had no 
portrait of her, no lock of hair. The 
letters in a round and childish hand that 
had reached him occasionally at the other 


side of the world, few and far between as 
they were, were yet the only tangible proofs 
of her existence. He hastened, and yet 
would have deferred the moment of meet- 
ing. He who had loved few people, and 
been loved by few, whose life had been 
cursed by what should have been life's 
blessing, wondered, 

"Will the child love me?" 



" O little souls ! as pure and white 
And crystalline as rays of light, 

Direct from Heaven, their source divine 
Refracted through the mist of years, 
How red my setting sun appears ! 

How lurid looks this soul of mine !" 

TN a neighbourhood nearer to Regent's 
-*- Park than to the City, but equally out 
of sight of the Park's green grass and 
foliage and the City's smoke and chimney- 
tops— in a house exactly like the majority 
of London houses ''all of a row"— in a 
drawing-room furnished by line and 
rule exactly as the Furniture Catalogues 


and the various volumes of Advice to 
Young Housekeepers recommend, were 
seated a little girl, an old gentleman, and 
four old ladies. 

The four ladies miglit be all freely 
classed together under the above adjec- 
tive ; but in truth two of them were of 
that uncertain age which in a fashionable 
lady in a fashionable grande toilette would 
probably be called "a little past the 
prime," yet which in these maiden sisters 
with their Quaker-coloured dresses and 
cappy head-dresses, was generally and 
briefly set down as " old." The other 
two, the thin widow and the portly matron, 
were older ; and the gentleman decidedly 
oldest ; he was eighty-one and had not a 
visible tooth in his head. 

The child, a prett}' little girl of ten years 


old, looked all the more childish, and her 
companions all the older, from the contrast 
between their Winter and her Spring. She 
was Luli Glen cairn ; the two maiden ladies, 
whom she called " Aunt," were her 
mother's aunts, Miss Christiana and Miss 
Priscilla Potter. These ladies, their 
income being too small and their house 
being too large for them, added to the 
former and filled up the latter by 
receiving as resident guests the widow 
lady, Mrs. Boyd, and the old couple, Mr. 
and Mrs. Foster, who contributed to the 
household funds an equivalent for the 
Misses Potters' hospitality and " the 
comforts of a refined home," as the adver- 
tisement which in the original instance had 
brought all these congenial spirits toge- 
ther, had set forth. 


It was not a boarding-house, not at all, 
as Mrs. Boyd was wont to say emphati- 
cally, and was strictly select. No wolves 
had ever prowled around that fold; no 
black sheep had ever obtained a moment's 
admittance. There was the one little pet 
white lamb in the fold, who was guarded 
and treasured with zealous care. But the 
day and the hour — or, to be strictly 
literal, the evening and the hour — had 
come when this little lamb was to be 
claimed by one whom decisive Miss 
Christiana regarded as a very black sheep, 
and timid Miss Priscilla looked upon with 
alarm as a probable wolf. Still they were 
both careful to conceal from Lull their 
doubts on the subject of her father, 
hiding them under a prudent appearance 
of confidence in the mutual happiness 


of parent and cliild in their re-union. 

Glencairn liad written to say lie would 
be with them that evening. There had 
been business and bustle in the house all 
day preparing a room for his reception. 
There might be doubt and reluctance in 
the minds of the mistresses of the fold as 
to the advent of the lupine intruder, but 
board and bed and open gates awaited 
him, and the lamb was decked for the sa- 
crifice, ready to be yielded to his claws. 

Luli, arrayed in her prettiest white 
muslin, with streaming blue sash and blue 
ribands in her fair hair, sat with the rest 
of the social circle in the drawing-room, 
bolt upright in her chair, never turning a 
leaf of the book of pictures before her, 
listening for the bell, and looking every 
now and then at the door. 


" She's quite excited at the thought o£ 
seeing her papa," observed Mrs. Foster in 
the good-natured comfortable way in which 
so many portly old ladies speak. 

" Haven't you ever seen your papa, my 
dear?" inquired old Mr. Foster, who did 
not know, or did not remember what he 
had been told about Luli's family history. 

" No ; she was not a year and a half old 
when her mamma died and her papa went 
away," replied Miss Christiana, who gener- 
ally took it upon herself to answer for 

" Ah, poor little dear — sad ! worse than 
an orphan!" observed Mrs. Boyd, who 
knew the whole story, wagging her head 
gravely. Miss Priscilla glanced uncom- 
fortably at Luli. Miss Christiana observed 
with severity. 


"Not at all; she's much better off than 
any poor orphan, especially now that her 
papa's coming back." 

" It's always been like having no papa," 
said Luli, putting in a word on her own 
account, in a pretty little voice as soft and 
«weet as her pretty innocent eyes. 

" But you shouldn't get excited about 
it; you've made yourself look quite pale," 
said Miss Christiana reprovingly; whereat 
Luli, who was shy and sensitive, blushed 
rosy-red and looked almost ready to cry, 
and, burying herself in her picture-book, 
muttered in an injured and reproachful 

" I'm not excited, Aunt Chrissy." 

" Bless her heart ! we don't have our 
papas come home every day," said gentle 
Miss Priscilla cheerfully. The poor lady's 


clieerfulness that evening was a really 
heroic effort, for she was miserable at the 
thought of parting from her pet lamb, 
especially of entrusting her to the tender 
mercies of one whom she deemed, not 
unreasonably, to be well proven of the 
lupine tribe, and possibly lacking even in 
the proverbial covering of fleece. 

A cab was heard to stop at the door, and 
a bell rang. Luli started up from her chair 
and stood listening. Then there was the 
sound of the hall-door opening and foot- 
steps in the hall ; and Luli sprang towards 
the door, but before she reached it she 
stopped, shy, nervous, and all trembling 
with excitement, and looked appealingly 
towards her aunts. 

" I suppose it is your papa at last," said 
Miss Christiana, rising up with some 


stateliness and shaking ont her skirts 

"Eun and meet papa, Luli! you're very 
glad, you know," said Miss Priscilla flur- 
riedly, thus sending the child on before as 
a sort of avant-courrier to break the ice. 

Glencairn, standing in the hall in his 
dark slouched hat and grey overcoat, 
looking in his travelling attire a much 
bigger man than he really was, and the 
cabman, putting a large portmanteau down 
with a thump on the floor, saw a fairy-like 
childish figure all in white flutter down the 
stairs lightly as a bird ; and Luli and her 
father were face to face for the first time 
in Lull's recollection. 

The meeting was — like most other meet- 
ings — not quite what either party had ex- 
pected or hoped for. Lull's anticipations 


had been childishly vague, but she had 
somehow expected something more roman- 
tic and exciting than the actual fact 
proved ; Avhile to him, perhaps this first 
sudden sis^ht of the child so like her 
mother, was productive of more pain than 
joy. He saw before him, in that first 
moment, not so much a promise of the 
future as a ghost of the past. 

Luli was pale and nervous as she asked 
in a small shy voice, " Are you papa ?" and 
he replied to her in a subdued tone that 
did not convey to her immature percep- 
tions any vivid idea of joy or emotion. 

Then he stooped and kissed her quietly, 
and then Miss Christiana sailing downstairs, 
pronounced in her distinct voice and with 
a strictly correct accent of courteous wel- 

VOL. I. D 


" How do you do, Mr. Glencairn ?" 

And Miss Priscilla following, in her 
flurry and her anxiety to atone for any 
formality in her sister's manner, greeted 
him with almost unnatural amiability, 
italicising the warmest words of her wel- 

" I hope you had a pleasant journey — 
very glad to see you — come in." 

Glencairn did not expend many words 
in this meeting, and the sisters Potter 
were not especially favourably impressed 
with him. But in the parlour, whither he 
was presently ushered, and where he 
straightway installed himself in the most 
comfortable arm-chair, while Miss Chris- 
tiana recited the remarks and inquiries 
she deemed appropriate to the occasion, 
Miss Priscilla noticed that he was not 


hearing a word lier sister said, but gazing 

at little Luli. 

"Well grown of her age, isn't she?" 

said Miss Priscilla, that being the first thing 
that occurred to her to say, although iu 
point of fact Luli was not much developed 
for her years. He nodded carelessly to 
the sisters, and looking at Luli, smiled, 
and his face gradually softened into a sin- 
gularly tender and yearning expression. 
Luli, meeting that look, drew slowly closer 
to him. He did not speak, but the child 
came nearer and nearer, drawn by an all- 
powerful influence. She put her little 
hand out shyly and laid it on his, and he 
lifted her into his arms. 

" Leave us a little while, please," he 
said, bending his face over her golden 
curls, and not casting a glance towards 



the sister aunts, who withdrew, Miss Chris- 
tiana somewhat dignified and haughty 
under the dismissal, Miss Priscilla forgiv- 
ing the request for the naturalness of the 
feeling that prompted it. 

When they returned to the parlour — 
and they had some difficulty in determin- 
ing the exact period of absence which 
should be long enough for delicacy and 
discretion, and brief enough to accord with 
the duties of hospitality — they found Luli 
still seated on her father's knee, with her 
face buried in the collar of his coat. And 
when Luli was addressed, she only lifted 
up tear-stained eyes, red cheeks, and 
tumbled curls for a minute, while she 
asserted resolutely, " I won't leave papa !" 
and then nestled her head down again, and 
clasped her small arms closely round his 


neck, as if apprehensive of being carried 
away from him by main force. 

" But, my dear, your papa requires some 
refreshment after his long journey. I 
have ordered a tray to be brought up." 

" Bring it here, and Luli shall have some 
supper with me," said Glencairn, who, as 
Miss Christiana noticed from the first, 
never appeared to think it possible that a 
request of his should be other than 
promptly complied with. " We'll break 
bread together, little one," he added, and 
the bearded lips were for a moment buried 
in the child's soft fair curls. 

So a tray of supper was brought, and 
Glencairn made a rather hasty meal, after 
travellers' wont, as if he had been standing 
at a buffet ; and talked meanwhile about 
his travels, and related an anecdote or 


two. Luli, curled up on the elbow of his 
chair like a soft white kitten, listened 
adoringly ; Miss Christiana began to un- 
bend a little, and Miss Priscilla to relent 
into regarding her nephew-in-law as a 
thoroughly improved and reformed cha- 
racter. For Glencairn's manner was most 
pleasant and charming when he chose it 
should be so. No one could make himself 
more agreeable than he when he had a 
mind thereto. 

His coldness melted into gentleness ; 
his brusquerie softened into a frank bright 
animation. The reticent, quiet manner 
that had repelled them at first had vanish- 
ed like a veil blown away; but, as they 
were not many days in learning, it was a 
veil that now and again would suddenly 
fall over him, and wrap him in an ab- 


stracted and abruptly-expressed reserve. 

After supper, the careful aunts wanted 
to take Lull away to bed, but Lull objected 
strongly, and her father sided with her. 

" Let her stay with me awhile — it is our 
first evening," he said, pleasantly and 
lightly, but still as if his light requests 
were law. 

So they left her with him, and went up 
to join their select circle of guests in the 
drawing-room, and indulge in a good gossip 
about Glencairn and his affairs, past, 
present, and future, with Mr. and Mrs. 
Foster, who were mildly interested, who 
had heard the story before and forgotten 
it, and Mrs. Boyd, whose memory on the 
subject of others' sins was perfectly clear, 
who knew all about it and was mournfully 
inquisitive, insisted on speaking of Glen- 


cairn in a tone of the pious melanclioly 
suitable to unfallen virtue when it speaks 
of "wanderers and prodigals, and regarded 
the occasion as a suitable one for a homily 
on reclaiming the lost sheep. 

Presently Miss Christiana remarked 
decisively, " It is full time the child was in 
bed." All the old people, agreeing, arose to 
light their candles; and while old Mr. Foster 
was tottering leisurely upstairs to his 
room, and old Mrs. Boyd pouring a con- 
fidential question into Miss Christiana's 
ear, Miss Priscilla descended to the parlour 
to summon Luli. 

Glencairn was still sitting in the arm- 
chair; Luli was fast asleep in his arms, 
her rufiled curls hanging over his shoulder, 
her face half hidden, and only a glimpse of 
her pretty parted lips and fair, flushed 
cheek to be seen. 


Miss Priscilla advanced very quietly. 
Glen cairn looked up at lier from the golden 
bead that lay on his breast, and smiled 
with a half sad, brooding tenderness that 
melted Miss Priscilla's heart, and inclined 
her to kill the fatted calf. They were 
quite silent for a few moments, both 
intent upon the tired child sleeping in the 
pure and perfect peacefulness that only 
childhood knows, both anxious not to 
wake her, both probably stirred at heart 
by some thoughts springing from the same 
source. Then he said, in a low voice, 

" You have not brought her up to hate 
me, then ?" 

"We knew our duty better. You are 
her father," said the aunt, and her look 
was kinder than her words. 

" She is like " he began softly, and 

left the sentence unfinished. 


" She is her living image," said Miss 

" Too like !" he murmured, and his brow 
clouded with a deep sadness. Miss Priscilla 
stepped nearer, and the look of womanly 
sympathy on her kind old faded face, drew 
him on to utter his thought to her. 

" Too tender a flower !"he said. " But 
trust her in my care. As I deal with her, 
may God so deal with me !" 



" When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, 
Speak of me as I am ; nothing extenuate, 
Nor set down aught in malice. 

One whose hand, 
Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away 
Richer than all his tribe !" 


" T REALLY think lie is very mucli 
*- improved. People do reform, you 

know," said Miss Priscilla Potter, in a mild, 

suggestive voice. " I think he'll be a good 

father to Luli." 

" Maybe. Bad husbands do make good 

fathers sometimes," responded her sister. 


'' He certainly has a heart," Miss Pris- 
cilla continued, in a puzzled, reflective 
way. "I can't make out how ever he 

could " The sentence, left unfinished 

as it was, might have been perplexing to a 
stranger, but Miss Christiana understood 
the allusion, and replied promptly, 

" Men are bad. Prissy. That's the only 
way of accounting for it." 

" I trust and hope that he is treading a 
better path now," said the gentler sister. 

"I don't suppose he can be always run- 
ning away with actresses, certainly. I 
think it's very probable he won't do it 
again. Once turned out to be enough," 
replied the other, with biting emphasis. 

Miss Priscilla sighed, shook her head, 
and then observed, " He seems very fond 
of Luli." 


" He was very fond of Laura, if I recol- 
lect right," answered Miss Cliristiana, " iu 
their honeymoon ! — yes, and for a long 
time after it. Mind, I think you are quite 
right so far, Prissy — that he is inclined to 
be fond of Luli, and kind to her. I do 
him the justice to think he sincerely re- 
pented, and that he recognises the doubly 
sacred dut}^ which binds him to Laura's 

" There shall be more joy in heaven 
over one sinner that repenteth," murmured 
Miss Priscilla, whose heart had quite 
melted towards Glencairn since she had 
heard that promise of his so solemnly 
spoken over the sleeping child. 

" The heart is deceitful and desperately 
wicked," responded Miss Christiana. " You 
must remember. Prissy, how much it took 


to turn his heart. Althougli he may have 
reformed now, I am convinced in my own 
mind that he never would have repented if 
it had not been for the shock which Laura's 
death gave him," she said, with positive 
emphasis, adding oratorically, as if giving 
out a hymn, "Out of evil cometh good. 
And if our poor Laura's death brought a 
sinner to repentance, she did not die in 

Miss Christiana, clearer-sighted and just- 
er, if less merciful than her sister, was pro- 
bably right in doubting whether Glencairn 
would ever have "repented" had it not 
been for the shock and the sorrow caused 
him by his wife's death. She might have 
gone further, and doubted whether " re- 
pentance," properly so called, could ever 
have any place in Glencairn's nature at all. 


He had known the suffering of bitter re- 
morse ; but it is questionable whether the 
feeling which alone the sisters would have 
regarded as true "repentance" had ever 
filled his heart. He had been agonized, 
defiant, embittered, miserable, but never 
humbled. He had rebelled against Fate, 
cursed Fate, cm'sed himself — but never 
knelt for prayer or pardon. A fatalist and 
a heathen by nature, a fine pagan spoilt by 
being born in a Christian age, for all his 
sins he blamed his destiny, and on that 
destiny sullenly resented the suffering he 
bore in the external patience of a Stoic. 

This child of the shipwreck, who knew 
no other parent, had led a strange and 
chequered life, which was probably rather 
the effect than the cause of his peculiar 
and wayward disposition. He had been at 


first taken charge of by the wife of one of 
the sailors who had escaped the wreck, an 
American, whose house was in a little 
villao^e on the North Atlantic coast. She 
died, and the sailor brought him to Eng- 
land, where friends of the captain of the 
lost vessel, taking an interest in the forlorn 
child, put him, as soon as he was old 
enough, to a good school. Glencairn 
stayed there awhile, but was not popular 
with his companions ; he was unruly, sul- 
len, and wilful, and one day, in a fit of 
passion, he drew a clasp-knife upon a 
schoolfellow, followed up his misdeeds by 
threatening to stab the schoolmaster him- 
self, and, obstinately refusing to apologise, 
was naturally, for the sake of law and 
order, expelled. 

He then ran away to sea, and worked 


bis way to Madeira aud tlie Cape of Good 
Hope. There he went up the country 
into the interior, led a rough and roving 
life for a time, and then fortune suddenly 
turned and smiled upon him. He made 
money by a stroke of luck in the diamond 
diggings; that money doubled, trebled 
itself, and he resolved to return to Eng- 

On the voyage he fell in love at first 
sight with Laura Graham, an orphan girl 
in mourning, who had come out with her 
parents, and ha^dng lost both father and 
mother, was on her way back to England, 
to find a home with her nearest relatives, 
her mother's sisters, the Misses Potter be- 
fore alluded to. She arrived in England 
duly, went to her aunts' house as Glen- 

VOL. r. E 


cairn's betrothed, and left there in a month 
as his wife. 

Laura was one of those women to whom 
to " love wisely " is impossible. Where 
they love, they '' love too well." She did 
not love Glencairn at all too well for his 
comfort, but, as things unfortunately 
turned out, a great deal too well for her 
own peace. 

It is not too much to say of Laura 
Glencairn that she was a perfect woman 
and a perfect wife. Glencairn had many 
rough, unpolished ways, was strange and 
fitful in his moods, and had a strong ele- 
ment of " the untutored savage " in his 
nature, which his wandering life had not 
tended to ameliorate. But he loved Laura, 
had loved her from the hour when he saw 
her first in her pure, modest maiden beauty, 


sad aud pale in licr mourning, with the 
rough sea winds tangling her golden hair. 
She came upon liiin like a vision ; she 
seemed to him a creature of another world. 
He loved her with the romantic passion of 
a first love ; and she in her turn simply 
adored him. Her patience and forbearance 
with him were limitless ; she merged her 
own wishes, annihilated her own nature in 
his. Love taught this inexperienced, gen- 
tle girl all its marvellous keenness of per- 
ception, its wondrous intuitions. Glencairn 
had taken her, a sorrowful, lonely, penni- 
less orphan, and had given her love and 
happiness, a beautiful home, and what to 
her seemed inexhaustible wealth. The 
advantage practically seemed all on her 
side ; but she gave hini the love that is more 
precious than fine gold, that a woman can 

E 2 


give but once, and tliat a man is blest if 
he once receives. 

There came an evil hour, which threw 
Glencairn across the path of the woman 
who marred his life. He was a creature 
of passion and impulse, unschooled, un- 
disciplined, principle and duty only known 
to him by name, shrewd in some kinds of 
business, understanding something of men, 
but absolutely nothing of women, fresh 
from a rough, roving life, and half a savage 
still in the simplicity with which he fol- 

" The good old rule, the simple plan, 

That they should take who have the power, 
And they should keep who can.'' 

Untutored as a wild nature of the prairie 
and the plain, in his knowledge of the 
world and of woman, he fell an easy victim 


to tlie snare. As suddenly and absolutely 
as lie had yielded to the romance of a first 
pure love for a pure and noble woman, he 
fell under the spell of a fatal passion for 
one of the Dalilahs of modern days. Her 
victory was complete, and she knew it ; and 
he was rich at that time. It followed that 
he left Laura and her child, and went oif 
with his new love to Italy. 

In some explanation of a wrong that was 
too cruel to be palliated, let it be remem- 
bered that he comprehended no more of a 
true woman's nature than of an extinct 
lano^uafre, and he had no idea that his 
leaving Laura would break her heart. He 
had taken care to arrange that she should 
have plenty of money in her possession, 
and the power of drawing on his bankers 
for more. She had her child. She was 


near lier motlier's sisters, who could advise ] 
and care for her. Leaving her under such ; 
circumstances did not seem to him to be 
desertion. He did not realize with what 
force the blow he was inflicting would fall. 
But Laura sank mortally stricken be- 
neath the shock. No spirit of wrath, of 
indignation, of outraged love and wounded 
pride, arose to sting her into resistance of 
the sorrow that killed her. Her weak and 
delicate physical frame broke down under 
the strength of her anguish. She was 
never heard to utter a word of blame or 
anger against him, but shrank away from 
the subject of his sin as from the touch of ; 
a burning iron. She only knew that from \ 
the paradise of his love she awoke to find ; 
herself deserted and alone, and from that i 
hour she failed and faded away. 


'When it was evidout that she was 
dying, they made searching inquiries for 
Glencairn, advertised, wrote or telegraphed 
to every authority likely to be of assistance 
in finding him. The news of Laura's dan- 
ger reached him at last, but not before he 
had discovered the utter worthlessness of 
the woman for whom he had deserted her. 
He had been a dupe ; he knew himself 
now to have been befooled and deceived, 
and knew that his true wife lay near to 
death. As fast as the power of steam 
could carry him, he hastened to Laura's 
side. He was too late for his presence to 
revive her broken strength, too late to call 
her back to life and love, but not too late 
to listen to her last faintly-whispered 
words, to see a smile of more than earthly 
peace and joy on her face before she died. 


The wages of sin were paid iiim. 

Her funeral was barely over wlien he 
fled away to the other side of the world. 
In gloom and bitterness of spirit he made 
haste to put the ocean between him and 
England, leaving his little Luli in the care 
of his lost wife's relatives. 

'Now, returned after his ten years of 
wanderings (which had not proved unpro- 
fitable), he resolved never to be parted 
ao^ain from the child who was the livino- 
miniature of the wife he had mourned, and 
to render the life of this child of his and 
Laura's as happy as mortal power could 
make it. 

Glencairn had made innumerable ac- 
quaintances in the course of his world-wide 
wanderings, but he had not many friends, 
especially in England. He had almost lost 


si<:^lit of the few of his school-fellows whom 
he had liked ; with the majority he had 
not been on good terms ; and he had quite 
lost sight of that family of the lost Captain 
Burnett who had partly educated him. All 
these early associations had drifted away, 
and the places where they had lived knew 
them no more. For Luli's sake and her 
future interests, as much as for his own, he 
now looked up all the friends he could 
muster ; and, not being afflicted with many 
scruples as to the strict etiquette of accept- 
ing casual invitations, he one day took Lull 
out dressed iu her best, and went to call on 
liis fellow-travellers from Paris, ]\Ir. and 
Mrs. Craven. 

They received him cordiall}', glad that 
the acquaintance should bo renewed. 
They had rather taken a fancy to Glencairn 


from the first, and tliey were delighted 
with pretty, well-mannered, soft-voiced 
Luli, who they decided at once would 
make a sweet companion for Katie. 

Mr. and Mrs. Craven were a couple 
overflowing with good-nature and sympa- 
thy and interest in their neighbours' affairs, 
surrounded by a somewhat common-place 
circle of friends, and delighting in any- 
thing new and out of the way. Glen- 
cairn was just what pleased them ; and the 
fact that he was evidently "a man with 
a story " — indeed, probably a man with 
more than one story — was a cause of 
much pleasant interest to Mrs. Craven, 
who was fond of novels and of poetry of 
an elementary kind. He afforded them a 
delightful subject of speculation and con- 
jecture ; and he could, when he was in the 


mood, entertain them with " travellers' 
tales " of thrilling interest. They liked 
him, and he knew he was liked. Thus it 
happened that the casual meeting sowed 
the seed of an enduring intimacy, which 
one day bore its fruit. 

It seemed to Glencairn that, during his 
absence, all his old friends had been scat- 
tered to the four winds of heaven. He 
inquired after one and another, and all 
were " dead," or " abroad," or " married," 
or "lost sight of." In the course of one of 
the earliest of these conversations after his 
return. Miss Christiana Potter observed, 

*' "We must show Mr. Glencairn," (she 
never dropped the 3fr.) " that pretty 
sketch Duke Mayburne made of Luli and 
the kitten. We are going to have it 
framed some day." 


"Duke Mayburne? What, Tom May- 
burn e's boy ?" said Glencairn. 

" Yes. Mr. Mayburne's dead, you 
know ; and Mrs. Mayburne and Duke 
have gone to live with his brother — he's a 
Manchester cotton-merchant ; he wants to 
bring Duke up to the business, and by way 
of attaining that end he has sent the boy 
up to his partner's office in London, where 
of course he has got his head stuffed full 
of artr 

" I shouldn't have thouQ-ht a London 
■cotton-merchant's office was the place for 
Art," interposed Glencairn. 

" But London is the place," responded 
Miss Potter, who did not like to be dis- 
agreed with. "Galleries and museums, 
and statues ; and clubs and latchkeys and 
what he calls artistic society, for a boy who 


ought to be iu the schoolroom ! — not but 
what he is a nice young fellow." 

"And he's been jDainting Lull's por- 
trait, has lie ? "Where is it ?" 

" Prissy, call Lull to bring it. It's a 
life-size picture," said Miss Christiana, 
" and very pretty we think it is." 

Miss Priscilla went out of the room on 
tlie errand requested. Presently Lull's 
flying feet were heard upon the stairs, and 
she burst into the room with a large 
water-colour sketch in her arms, which 
work of art she proceeded to hold up ad- 
miringly as near her father's eyes as she 
could reach. 

" See ! isn't it nice ? isn't the kitten 
lovely ? It's grown bigger now — the 
kitten has — but that's exactly what it used 
to be a month or two asfo. I had tied a 


red ribbon round its neck, but Duke 
would paint the ribbon blue." 

Luli allowed her father a moment's 
silence to admire the sketch, and then pur- 
sued, pulling him down into a chair and 
climbing on his knee, 

"And Duke has drawn me a whole sheet 
of comic characters for my scrap-book. 
And, papa," more confidentially, and 
glancing round to see that Aunt Chrissy 
and Aunt Prissy were safe in the ad- 
joining room, " he has made a picture of 
old Mr. and Mrs. Foster and Mrs. Boyd in 
his book, and wrote a verse underneath it ; 
but he wouldn't give it to me. Duke is so 
clever — he is nearly eighteen, you know, 
and, as he says, that's old enough to 
know his own mind ; and he wants to be 
an artist. Don't you think, papa, people 


ought to be what they like, and what they 
can do best ?" 

"Where there's a will, there's a way. 
AVhat people imnt to be, they luill be," pro- 
nounced Glencairn. 

" Duke will be a great artist then," said 
Luli with evident satisfaction and perfect 

" And what do you want to be, Luli ?" 
asked her father. 

"Why, — well, but a woman can't be 
anything, can she?" doubtfully inquired 
Luli, who was not an infant genius, and 
who had no idea whatever that the day of 
Woman's Rights was dawning. " I think," 
she added gravely, after a few moments' 
puzzled reflection, having run through the 
limited choice of feminine careers in her 
small mind, " that I should like best to 
be a columbine." 


" A what ?" inquired her father, who, not 
being an habitue of Christmas pantomimes, 
was not quick at catching the idea. 

" A columbine, you know — to fly on in 
the transformation-scene, and having no- 
thing to do but wear lovely fairy-dresses 
and dance. Don't you think a columbine 
must be one of the happiest creatures in 
the world ?" 

Glencairn laughed ; but he made no re- 
mark, told her nothing calculated to dis- 
perse the illusion. She would grow out of 
all her illusions fast enough, he considered ; 
let her remain a child in childish dreams 
and ignorance as long as it was possible. 
He would fain have kept this bud always 
folded, with . the fresh dew of ignorant 
innocence ever upon it. The dew would 
exhale away, and the folded petals open to 


the fierce sun and the rough winds soon 
enough. Looking in her childish eyes and 
remembering his own stormy youth, his 
heart filled with an unuttered prayer that 
those opening petals might unfold slowly, 
that the sun of passion might rise late for 
her, shine on her only faintly from afar, 
and the rough winds of the world deal 
softly with the blossom he deemed so 
delicate and frail. 

VOL. I. 



" In men whom men condemn as ill, 
I find so much of goodness still ; 
In men whom men pronounce divine, 
I find so much of sin and blot, 
I hesitate to draw a line 
Between the two, where God has not." 

Joaquin Miller. 

/^NE day, wlien Glencairn was lounging 
in the parlour, wMcli was generally 
held sacred to him (for he did not greatly 
affect the company of the " assembly of 
ancients," in which terms he habitually 
spoke of the drawing-room where the resi- 
dent guests did congregate), the door was 
pushed open, and the talented portrayer 


of the tabby kitten, Duke Maj^burne, who 
had brought a present for Luli, in the 
shape of a juvenile member of the canine 
species, walked in sans ceremonie. 

Glencairn had not seen Duke Mayburne, 
or, at least, had only seen him as a child 
many years before ; but he would have 
recognised him at once by the descriptions 
he had heard, even if the white terrier 
tucked away under the young fellow's arm 
had not identified him, for Luli had con- 
fided with hiojh deliofht to her father that 
she was to have this canine present. 

Glencairn had an eye for beauty of all 
kinds, male and female, life and still life, 
and he looked at the visitor approvingly, 
as he greeted him by name, and bade him 
come in. Duke Mayburne was indeed an 
almost perfect type of masculine beauty 



and youth. He was quite a boy, and boy- 
ish-looking still — tall and slight, with a 
figure that would probably develop and 
improve, and a face in which no improve- 
ment seemed possible, so singularly hand- 
some and attractive it was. He had hair 
of a warm dark chestnut, curling in rich 
and vigorous rings ; eyes large and bright 
and grey ; a complexion neither fair nor 
brown, but of a clear healthy olive pale- 
ness; and features that were, from the 
broad brow of square outline to the mas- 
sively moulded jaw and chin, thoroughly 
masculine in their strength and firmness, 
but with a delicate clearness of outline 
that endowed them with an absolute beauty 
rare in manhood, and in middle-aged man- 
hood so rare that one might doubt whether 
Duke Mayburne's handsome face would 
" wear well." 


As he stood tliere, with a frabk, boyish, 
half-embarrassed smile, responding to 
Glencairn's greeting, with his cap in one 
hand, and the white, pink-eyed, jet-nosed 
terrier tucked away snugly under his other 
arm, Glencairn regarded him with a steady, 
half-surjDrised, approving look ; but no 
vision beyond the passing hour crossed his 
mind, and no shadow fell between those 
two as first they stood face to face. 

" Tenfold handsomer than his father 
ever was," thought Glencairn. 

" I've brought Luli a pup, sir," said 
Duke, somewhat awkwardly, thinking to 
himself — "What is there so odd about Luli's 
father's eyes ?" 

"When he came to take a nearer view, he 
noticed at once the peculiarity of Glen- 
cairn's eyes — a peculiarity which its object 


never attempted to conceal by side -looks 
or downcast glances, yet which often, as 
on this occasion, produced on strangers an 
impression rather curious than unfavour- 

Before they had time to exchange more 
than a few words about the pup, whom 
Duke deposited on the hearthrug and 
commanded to " beg," which the pup was 
too shy and startled to do, Luli appeared 
upon the scene with a small scream of 
delight, flew at Duke, shook hands with him 
in a violent hurry with her eyes fixed on the 
white dog, and forthwith fell on her knees 
beside the animal, seized it by both fore- 
paws, called it fifty pet-names in a breath, 
and then found leisure to look up at the 
donor of this precious gift, and say with 
a delighted smile, 


" Oh, thank you — thank you ! you are 
good, and I do like you; and I will love 
my darling doggie so." Which assurance 
was unluckily lost on the dog, who was 
looking alarmed at these violent demon- 
strations, and seeming not to have a single 
wag in his drooping tail. 

Duke Mayburne was not a mere barber's 
block — handsome, and nothing else but 
handsome ; yet it must be admitted that he 
had not very much to say for himself that 
day. He was slightly shy of older men unless 
they were artists, in which case admiration 
and interest outweighed shyness; and as 
Luli only carried on a one-sided conversa- 
tion with the dog, and Glencairn looked on 
silently with his odd attentive piercing 
eyes (which Duke somehow felt following 
him even when he did not meet them), the 


young man was not quite capable of start- 
ing a conversation on his own account. 

However, presently Glencairn warmed 
up, and began to ask questions and make 
himself agreeable; then Duke responded 
freely ; and Luli, sinking into silence, sat 
hugging the pup, who, being by this time 
convinced that no harm was intended him, 
licked her hand gratefully, while her father 
inquired after various members of the 
Mayburne family, manifested a "friend of 
the family " sort of interest in Duke's 
career, related an anecdote or two of the 
other side of the world, and drew out of 
Duke, who speedily got at home with him, 
the confession of his hopes and ambitions 
for the future, which sprang from the 
main fact that at present he hated business 
and loved art. 


Glencairu was not a business man, 
thougli he had entered into many a specula- 
tion, and made many a lucky investment 
in his day. And he hated control and 
restraints of all kinds, and never in his life, 
"which had been so full of ups and downs, 
had served regular hours in any sedentar}" 
regular employment under orders for one 
day longer than was absolutely necessary 
to get him his bread. Necessary for very 
daily bread it had sometimes been to him ; 
and then he had bent silently to the yoke, 
but had cast it off the moment he felt 
himself able to do so. Thus, although he 
said few or no words of sympathy or en- 
couragement to Duke Mayburne's wayward 
fancy, his influence was a sympathetic one, 
and his look rested kindly on the boy's 


"Not a bit like his father," he said when 
Duke was gone. " And it is a fine face ! 
If I am any judge of physiognomy, that 
boy will have his will and make his way." 

Luli was delighted with her dog, which 
was called Jack. She demurred to this 
unromantic cognomen a little at first, and 
would have preferred " Conrad ;" but as 
Duke had presented it to her under the 
briefer and less euphonious name, and as 
it answered to " Jack," and was not at all 
responsive to Conrad, " Jack " the terrier 
remained to the end of the chapter. 

Apropos of this precious white pup, a 
little incident occurred one day, which, as 
straws show which way the current sets, 
impressed the Misses Potter with varied 
ideas on the subject of trusting Luli to the 
tender mercies of their nephew-in-law. 


The two elderly aunts, and Glencairn, 
and Lull and the dog, were enjoying the 
healthful and harmless recreation of a morn- 
ing walk in the park. Jack, much rejoicing 
in the open air and the soft, fresh, elastic 
turf, was careering in cii'cles about, looking 
not unlike a large white rabbit frisking on 
the green grass. Luli was watching her 
pet's evolutions with great interest and 
admiration, when a sandy dog of Bohemian 
aspect, somewhat larger than carefully- 
combed and cleaned, snowy-white Jack, 
advanced to the assault, laid disrespectful 
dirty paws on Jack's sleek and spotless 
white shoulder, and attempted to seize him 
by the ear. 

Luli flew to the rescue, and tried to 
catch her favourite up in her arms. The 
other dog, not approving of this interfer- 
ence, snapped at her hand. 


" Did lie bite you ?" asked Glencairn. 

" Only a scratch," she said, startled, and 
looking half inclined to cry. 

"Which was it bit vou?" 

" That nasty yellow dog," replied Luli. 

Glencairn pushed the white dog to one 
side, and kicked the unfortunate yellow 
dog with a force that flung it several yards 
away, where it fell helpless, with a howl of 
pain, and lay yelping loudly. 

The Misses Potter uttered little screams. 
Glencairn turned and walked straight on 
his way. Luli, very pale, her little lips 
quite white, frightened into absolute pas- 
siveness, followed her father tremblingly 
for a step or two ; then the piteous cries 
of the dog became more than she could 
bear ; she stood still, burst into bitter tears, 
and sobbed out, 


" Ob, tlie poor dog !" 

" Why, it bit you," said Glencairn, practi- 

" But it's burt ! — ob ! it's burt, poor 
tbing ! — bark ! bear it !" And Luli stopped 
up ber ears witb two fingers and sobbed 
more loudly. 

" Come along ; don't cry," said Glencairn, 
taking ber band. He spoke not at all 
barsbly, indeed quite gently ; but tbe cbild 
felt be was not to be disobeyed, and let 
bim lead ber along, away from tbe victim, 
wbose piteous bowls fell fainter and fainter 
on tbeir ears. Her Aunt Priscilla, partly 
afraid of offending Glencairn, and partly 
afraid of being bitten by tbe suffering dog, 
did not go near it, altbougb ber beart was 
melted, and sbe was sbedding a tear meekly 
bebiud ber veil. Miss Cbristiana, less ten- 


der-lieartedj did not particularly yearn to 
nurse the animal ; but she looked indig- 
nantly at Glencairn, and muttered "Brute!" i 
but she stood sufficiently in awe of him to 
mutter it under her breath. 

Luli reluctantly allowed herself to be led 
to the gate of the park ; but there she 
stopped, and pleaded earnestly and tear- 

" Do, do, papa dear, let me go back and 
see if the poor dog is better. Papa, darling, 
please r 

Glencairn hesitated a moment, looking 
half impatient, and then relented. 

" Well, well, go home with your aunts, 
and ill go back and see how it is. I dare 
say it's well by this time. If not, I'll give 
some boy sixpence to look after it. There, 
cheer up, little one ! it shall be all right." 


Gleucairu turned back and walked away 
with quick strides. 

When he returned home, and Luli ran 
to him, asking eagerly, " How is the dog?"" 
he replied, 

*'It's better; it wasn't much hurt; it's- 
not crying a bit now. I sent a boy to look 
after it." 

But Priscilla thought that the dog must 
have been too much hurt to be so rapidly 
cured ; and when she could find an oppor- 
tunity of speaking alone to Glencairn, she 
inquired of him, in a low voice — 

" How did you manage about the dog ?" 

" Why, I killed it," he answered ; '' that 
was the best thing. Ribs were broken too 
badly to recover. Here !" he added, sud- 
denly, looking sharply at her, " don't say a 
word to Luli ! The child's too sensitive- 
Not a word to her, mind." 


Miss Priscilla implicitly obeyed him, 
•chiefly because she dared not for her life 
have done otherwise. But she mourned to 
Miss Christiana — " Luli is so truthful and 
open, and so tender-hearted ! And he is 
so different from his child !" 

It seemed to poor Priscilla strange and 
almost impossible that the Glencairn of 
that morning was the very same and no 
other than the Glencairn who amused Kate 
Craven and Luli by tale-telling that very 
day after tea, and round whom the children 
clung so trustingly and affectionately. 
Katie Craven had come to tea with Luli, 
and after that meal (partaken of in the 
drawing-room in company with the an- 
cients), whereat the two little girls had 
been almost preternaturally well-behaved, 
and had done credit to their schooling in 


the " General Deportmeut " branch, they 
raced down to the parlour for their 
" treat," — the evening's treat — au hour 
with Glencairn. 

They drew two low footstools to the win- 
dow, beside which his armchair was situ- 
ated, and sat at his feet, while he told them 
a wonderful story about the emerald eye 
of an Indian idol. Old Mr. Foster was a 
kind old gentleman, who gave the little 
girls chocolate-drops, and asked them how 
old they were, and what prizes they got at 
school ; but Luli and her little visitors did 
not look forward to half an hour with Mr. 
Foster as a treat, and were never seen sit- 
ting at his feet, adoringly listening to his 
stories, as they were seen with Glencairn. 

Miss Priscilla did not understand Glencairn 
at all ; she could not help feeling a sort of 

VOL. I. G 


doubtful, half -reluctant liking for him ; and 
this liking of her own puzzled herself. She 
had been accustomed all her life to see the 
sheep and the goats feeding in separate 
pastures, with broad and high hedges 
marking the limits of each. She believed 
human natures to be black all through, or 
white all through ; cruel and false all 
through, or kind and true all through. 
Glencairn was neither; he was kind and 
cruel, faithless and true ; he was not a 
sheep, and yet was not altogether a goat ; 
and so he puzzled her. 

As for Miss Christiana, she never did, 
and never could, like Glencairn, and re- 
joiced when he fixed a time for his depart- 
ure, although she regretted that he would 
take Luli with him, and she would be their 
charge no more. 


" Unless lie gets tired of her !" Miss 
Christiana added, grimly. 

Glencairn, not having been in London 
for so many years, was in no immediate 
hurry to leave it, although he had little 
love for great cities. During this visit — 
which, bird of passage though he was, 
endured some months — he saw a great deal 
of Duke Mayburne, and conceived a rather 
unusual preference for him, for as a rule 
the society of young men was to him an 
unbearable infliction. But this young 
fellow's kindness to Luli (whose childish 
prettiness pleased his artistic eye, and 
whose childish aif ection for himself flattered 
his youthful vanity) was gratifying to 
Luli's father. A kind of intimacy, too 
unequal and superficial to bear the title of 
friendship, arose between the man and the 



boy ; and it became a frequent occurrence 
for Duke to join Gleucairn and little Luli 
in their Sunday " outings." Glencairn 
always took Luli out on a Sunday — some- 
times for a long drive in tlie country, 
sometimes on an excursion by rail, now 
for a row on the river, and then for a 
ramble at Hampstead, not on the Heath, 
where the holiday-makers disported them- 
selves, with shouts and laughter, and 
much popping of ginger-beer and peeling 
of oranges — but round the lanes and fields, 
which were comparatively quiet. There, 
under the shelter of some convenient bank 
or tree, they would partake of a kind of 
picnic lunch, composed of sandwiches 
thoughtfully prepared by Miss Potter, and 
a wine-flask provided by Glencairn, with 
sometimes a similar contribution from 


Duke Maybiirne, and an extempore table- 
cloth made out of the morning's news- 

" On all Hampstead Heath I don't sup- 
pose there is any more oddly assorted trio 
than Ave are," Glencairn observed, as he 
disinterred a cold sausage and a French 
roll from the recesses of a brown paper 
parcel. " Luli, why don't you run and 
play with those little girls over there? 
Duke, my boy, there are some kindred souls 
for you — why don't you join them ?" indi- 
cating a quartette of young men in their 
Sunday array, many-coloured as Joseph's 
coat in regard to their ties and gloves, who 
were singing a popular air in chorus with 
great satisfaction to themselves, and ap- 
parently with truth, as they were asserting 
that " Jolly dogs were they !" 


" Thanks, I'm quite happy as I am, if 
you are not in a hurry to get rid of me," 
responded Duke. "I don't particularly 
want to be a ' jolly dog,' and I do want one 
of those sandwiches." 

" Ham sandwiches," observed Glencairn, 
"the conventional British traveller's re- 
freshment, selected probably because the 
least satisfying, least refreshing, and alto- 
gether most objectionable and inconvenient 
meal for travelling. Now fruit — choco- 
late Look here, did I ever tell you 

howj when I was in the South Sea 
Islands " 

And Glencairn launched off into one 
of his travellers' anecdotes. He had 
plenty of them, though it was not often 
that he related them ; he required to be in 
an especially expansive mood to do so ; and 


it was the opinion of some who knew him 
well that the most interesting and auto- 
biographical anecdotes which he could have 
told would never be related at all. 

Duke liked to "set the old fellow going," 
as he irreverently put it. Indeed the " odd- 
ly assorted trio," the bearded, careworn 
traveller of many lands, in the Autumn 
prime of his rough roving life, the young 
man in the vigorous May of his, and the 
fragile girl-child on whom the early Spring 
of life had scarcely dawned, got on always 
well together, and were more and more 
frequently in each other's company as 
weeks went on. 

They often went for a day down the 
river together. Duke was very fond of 
rowing ; indeed it was the only athletic 
exercise he cared much about, or at any 


rate mucli indulged in. A horse was too 
expensive a luxury for liim to gratify his 
taste for riding often ; but a day's boating 
was easily attainable, especially as Glen- 
cairn also liked to take an oar, and they 
often rowed down the river, pulling along 
in sociable silence for half the day, while 
Luli sat curled up in the bottom of the 
boat playing with her doll or picture-book, 
or with Jack, who was sometimes honoured 
with a place amongst the party, and some- 
times left at home howling and disappointed. 
One day they had pulled a long way 
down the river, past the bridges and the 
smoke and the close-packed houses, away 
to banks of sloping gardens and Autumn- 
tinted trees. It had been a long, hard 
row, and here they rested on their oars. 
There were houses near, not the dingy 


ranks of tall, square brick boxes that 
make and mar tlie streets of London, but 
pretty villas of varied architecture, half 
buried in trees and shrubbery, with green 
velvet lawns slanting to the river, and 
trimmed and pruned flowering bushes 
following the bend of the bank. There 
were people strolling about the gardens; 
there was one garden that seemed to be- 
long to an establishment something of the 
nature of an hotel, to judge by the little 
tables dotted about in arbours and under 
trees. It was not a lonely spot by any 
means ; there were several boats about, and 
a string of big, heavy, hulking-looking 
barges sliding by, black and ugly, like a 
trail of blots across the bright, quiet beauty 
of the river there. 

There was a deep blue sky, flecked with 


soft snow-wreaths of floating cloud that 
melted and merged into the blue as you 
gazed upon them ; and in the west a rosier 
light was rising, deepening as the sun 
sank lower. 

" There ' is the smoke that so gracefully 
curled ' !" quoted Glencairn, looking at a 
faint blue mist behind a tall laurel shrub- 
bery. "But 'if there's peace to be found 
in the world,' — by the heart humble or 
otherwise, — I think you are as likely to 
find it in a prairie camp or a city garret as 
here !" 

"Peace seems to me a very poor am- 
bition," observed Diike, with youthful 
rashness and energy. " How can mere 
peace be an aim and object of anybody's 
life ? It seems to me only needful to come 
late in the day — a rest after all things have 
been won." 


" Or lost," suggested Gleucairn. " "When 
you have lost your stake, you'll look for 
peace, and not find it. While you are 
winning, it won't be for peace you'll seek." 

" Papa, is a prairie prettier than this ?" 
inquired Luli, who had been dwelling upon 
the word she had caught a few moments 
before, and who was seated in the stern, 
enjoying the proud privilege of steer- 

" Well, I don't think it would be to your 
taste. There's a good deal of sameness 
about it. I say, Duke, we're not on the^ 
right side for this steamer to pass. We'd 
better pull across." 

"We shall fall foul of those barges, 
then, if we don't look out," observed Duke. 
" Hadn't we better stop here?" 

"There's time to fall in below th& 


barges," said Glencairn. "Pull away 

They did pull hard, but the steamer was 
shooting along more rapidly, and the barges 
were drifting out of the way slower than 
Glencairn had calculated. Instead of get- 
ting clear of the steamer, they were actual- 
ly crossing its path ; but they would have 
cleared it safely enough, if Luli, in her 
alarm at seeing the steamer so close upon 
them, had not let go the rope, and then 
seized and jerked it the wrong way. The 
boat swung round in the swell of the 
steamer ; it seemed that the steamer barely 
touched it ; but in a second it capsized and 
tossed its three occupants into the water 
close to the revolving paddle-wheels. 

Glencairn seized Luli with one arm 
almost before the water had" time to close 


over lier head, and with the other arm struck 
out for the bank. The bank was not distant; 
he was a good swimmer, and reached it 
easily, encumbered though he was. He had 
scrambled on to the shore and lifted Lull 
up in his arms, shivering and drenched, 
but quite unhurt, almost before the lookers- 
on could rush from the gardens to his 
assistance, before the ladies on board the 
steamer had done screaming, and while the 
men were yet flinging a rope over the 
steamer's side. 

Two or three sympathetic matrons and 
maidens — one of whom had clambered 
over an iron railing in her eagerness — im- 
mediately made a rush for Luli ; but Glen- 
cairn, pushing her dripping hair off her 
face, and assuring himself anxiously that 
she was safe and sound, wide-awake and 


conscious, and in no way the worse except 
for fright, seemed in no hurry to give her 
out of his arms. 

Luli, rubbing the water out of her eyes, 
very pale, but at first too terrified for tears, 
looked round and then burst into a cry of 

" Duke ! Where is Duke ?" 

Glencairn looked round too at the child's 
cry. He had entirely forgotten their com- 
panion ; or rather, knowing that the young 
man could swim, he had not thought of 
looking after him ; he had been only ab- 
sorbed in the child. Now he saw in one 
rapid glance that there was no glimpse to 
be caught of Duke either in the water or 
on the shore, and that there was thus a 
very good reason for the excitement of the 
people who were running to and fro on the 


bank, and of those "who were still shouting 
and caUing from the steamer and from the 
boats that came crowding round. 

Glencairn gave Luli into the arms of the 
nearest woman, and echoed the question, 

'« Where is he ?" 

" He must have been hit by the steamer," 
shouted one man. 

" He went down like lead all in a 
minute," called out another. 

Glencairn tore off his coat and boots, 
which in the suddenness of the overset he 
had had no time to remove, and sprang to 
the water's edge. He cast one glance, 
swift and keen as an eagle's, up, down, 
across the river ; shouted once more to the 
men on board, " Do you see no sign of 
him ?" and then plunged and dived down 
near the spot where he supposed Duke 
must have sunk. 


The groups on the bank, who were mo- 
mentarity increasing in numbers, watched 
breathlessly, and called aloud injunctions 
to the boatmen, who shouted mutual in- 
structions in turn. The women clustered 
round Luli and hugged her and tried to 
hush her frightened sobs. 

All eyes were fastened on the spot 
where Glencairn had disappeared. 

Hush ! he is coming up again ! there is 
his head by that boat ! there he is — and 
there he is, alone! They are stretching out 
hands to help him into the boat, but he 
rejects the help. He has only come to the 
surface to take breath ; he pauses only a 
minute, and then he is down again, down 
deep under the water out of sight. 

They wait and watch ; it seems hours, 
though it is only moments, that they wait 


and watch; and the woman who holds 
Lull is sobbing too hysterically herself to 
soothe the child. At last — at last there is 
a shout of " Here ! here he is !" from one 
of the boats ; something dark comes to the 
surface of the water; there is one mo- 
ment's breathless watch, and then a ring- 
ing shout of " Hurrah ! hurrah 1" goes up 
to the sky. " He has got him ! he has got 
him safe !" they cry, while eager hands are 
held out to help to haul the two men into 
the nearest boat. 

One is of course perfectly insensible, and 
hangs a limp, heavy, helpless mass over 
their arms as they manage to drag him 
over the side. The other seems very little 
the worse for his diving-exploit and 
scrambles up into the boat without much 
difficulty. A few strokes take the boat 

VOL. I. H 


to the bank. There is a rush to assist 
Glencairn out ; but he is in no need of 
assistance, though still panting and breath- 
less. He steps on shore, and stands, 
dripping, in a pool of water, water running 
in little rivulets from his hair and eyes 
and nose and chin, the centre of an ad- 
miring, eager, congratulatory group. 

Luli flies to him and seizes his strong 
wet dripping hand in both her small 
trembling ones. His is trembling a little 
too, as he clasps her clinging fingers close, 
and turns to see that they are lifting Duke 
out of the boat. 

" Carry him to the house, quick," he 
says with his usual authoritative tone. 

"Oh ! is he dead ?" cries Luli sobbing 

"Dead? no! he's no business to be, at' 


least," lie answers abruptly. " I've seen 
men come to who have been twice as long 
immersed." He takes no notice of the 
friendly offers and inquiries and compli- 
ments that surround him, but suddenly 
strides out of the circle towards the two or 
three strono; men who are makino- some- 
what clumsy attempts to "lift up tenderly," 
and equally distribute between them the 
weight of a perfectly senseless human 
body about six feet high, and broad in pro- 

" D n it ! do you want to destroy 

what life there's left in him ?" he says 
roughly. "Lay him flat on that rug 
there, and carry him so." 

Thus in obedience to his commands — 
for, though many other pieces of advice 

are offered, his is the instruction that is 



followed — the procession moves off to- 
wards tlie house. 

Glencairn asserts in answer to all in- 
quiries that he is all right and perfectly 
himself, but he has not gone above a few 
steps when he staggers, and in spite of his 
muttered exclamations, (which sound sus- 
piciously like curses,) he has to be sup- 
ported and have brandy poured down his 
throat, before he can resume his independ- 
ent step. 

In the house Luli is cuddled and kissed 
and straightway undressed and put to bed 
by the sympathetic lady of the house, who 
cannot think of any better way to dispose 
of her. Glencairn, whose transitory faint- 
ness has quickly passed away, is surround- 
ed with attention, which he receives now 
with a half careless but not unattractive 
mixture of courtesy and taciturnity. 



Concerning Duke Mayburne there were 
many anxious questions as to whether he 
could be recovered from that cold and 
pulseless insensibility which looked far 
more like death than life. Glencairn 
maintained from the first that he would 
revive ; but it was some time before the 
question could be satisfactorily solved, and 
some sign of the life that had been nearly 
extinguished began to manifest itself. 

He did not open his eyes to full con- 
sciousness and murmur, " My preserver !" 
Half-drowned people don't as a rule. 
When he did revive — to find himself rolled 
in hot blankets, rubbed, chafed, and other- 
wise maltreated in a way that rendered the 
return to life rather an unpleasant affair — 
he stared vaguely round, and wondered 
where on earth he was, and what had hap- 


pened. There were strangers round Mm ; 
Glencairn was not there ; Luli was not 
there. He had not the least idea whose 
doing it was that he was still in the land 
of the living, until the master of the house 
presently enlightened him. 

" My dear boy," said that gentleman, 
with the familiarity and friendly interest 
one naturally feels towards a fellow-crea- 
ture one has just seen dragged back with 
trial and trouble from the border-land be- 
tween life aud death, *' if it had not been 
for that noble fellow who dived down twice 
at the risk of his own life to find you " 
(this was the natural exaggeration of the 
prevalent tendency to hero-worship, for 
Glencairn was too good a swimmer to have 
been in danger) — " if it had not been for 
his heroic efforts, you would never have 
been with us now." 


""Who was it?" asked Duke, collecting 
his confused senses, and looking round the 

" Your friend who was with you ; the 
father of the little girl." 

" Is she all right?" he inquired eagerly, 
as the full remembrance of what had hap- 
pened flashed clearly upon Mm. 

He recollected the boat capsizing, and 
nothing more except a moment's struggle 
and a blank darkness coming over him. A 
sufficiently bad bruise on his head bore 
witness that some portion of the steamer, 
probably the paddle-box, must have struck 
him and stunned him as he sank. It was 
evident that, whatever was the value of 
Duke Mayburne's life, to that amount he 
was indebted to Glencairn. But how 
heavy or how light that debt might be. 


and how the after-years would pay it, only 
those coming years would show. 

Glencairn himself utterly refused to pose 
as the preserver, and when they sent for 
him to see Duke, bestowed on him no more 
affectionate greeting than — 

"Well, young man, so you've come 
round all right ? Eather a close shave it's 
been; Perhaps next time you get upset, ;| 
you'll bear in mind that your head was not 
intended by nature to knock against paddle- 

He would not be thanked, and barred 
all attempts at expressed gratitude, saying 
with an air of settling things finally, 

^' Shut up, my boy. It was a mere 
chance. If I hadn't fished you out, some 
other fellow would." 



" She touched me with her face and with her voice, 
This daughter of the people. Such soft flowers 
From such rough roots?" 

E. B. Browning. 

rilHE river adventure was a nine days' 
sensation anion o;st the small circle 
of the Glencairns' friends, and a nine years' 
stock anecdote for the Miss Potters. By 
good fortune it led to no evil results ; no 
consumption, nor rheumatic fever, nor 
bronchitis followed it ; indeed, except that 
Luli had a slight cold for some days, and 
Duke an interesting cough for some weeks, 
" Nobody seemed one penny the worse." 


Glencairn of course observed every pos- 
sible precaution as regarded Luli, physic- 
ally and mentally, even guarding to tlie 
best of his ability against the accident's 
leaving behind (as such alarms so often 
do) any enduring nervousness in the 
child's sensitive organization. His plan 
was to take her on the water as soon again 
as possible, and more frequently than ever, 
so as to accustom and inure her to it ; 
and he succeeded so well that although 
she never forgot her fright, she was not a 
prey to any recurrent fears as to the 
" dangers of the deep." 

Of course the episode rather tended to 
increase than to diminish the intimacy 
between the Glencairns and young May- 
burne. Although Duke certainly had not 
distinguished himself in any way on the 


occasioD, except by having a much narrower 
escape than the rest, and giving a great 
deal more trouble in his restoration, he 
shared largely in the prestige of the adven- 

The time drew near, however, when thi& 
intimacy was to be interrupted by external 
circumstances. Glencairn and Luli wera 
going to cross the Channel, and Duke to- 
remain in Loudon ; thus as none of the 
three were likely to be good correspondents, 
and as the duration of the Glencairns ab- 
sence was uncertain, the friendship, so far 
as seeing and hearing, giving and receiving 
news, went, ran a risk of being broken 
up and lost, if the random chances that had 
worked to bring them together should 
work equally to keep them apart. 

Luli was in hisrh delio'ht at the idea of 


going away with lier father, and, child-like, 
indulged more in the pleasures of hope than 
in the sentiment of memory, and antici- 
pated entering on her new life far more 
eagerly than she regretted leaving the 

The evening preceding the Glencairns' 
departure was Katie Craven's annual birth- 
day party. Glencairn, having another en- 
gagement, was unable to go ; but of course 
Luli was not to be deprived of the treat, 
but was to be escorted there and fetched 
away by the Misses Potters' upper domestic. 
Duke Mayburne was to be there too; he 
had been introduced by Glencairn to the 
Cravens, who had straightway taken a 
fancy to his 'bright, attractive face, and in- 
vited him warmly to share their hospi- 


Kate's birthday party is a heterogeneous 
melee of various ages, little schoolfellows, 
old uncles and grandmammas, old friends, 
and old friends' grown-up sons and daugh- 
ters, new friends and their little ones. 
Just at first the elements do not mix very 
well, but seek out affinities, and sejDarate 
into congenial groups ; the little boys in 
tartans and knickerbockers herd into one 
corner; the boys in jackets, turn to the 
schoolgirls about their own age ; the ma- 
trons seek out the easy-chairs ; the heads 
of families congregate on the hearthrug 
with their backs to the fire ; and the young 
men and maidens follow the elementary 
laws of natural affinity. 

Mr. Duke Mayburne, according to the 
wont of young men in their teens, devotes 
himself to a comparatively mature syren 


•of some eight-and-twenty Summers. Luli, 
who is more interested in Duke than in 
anybody else there, seats herself on a foot- 
stool at the lady's feet, with the purpose of 
enjoying their conversation, which she fol- 
lows with simple interest, perfectly inno- 
cent of any suspicion that her company 
might (under some similar circumstances) 
not be desired. As it happens, they are only 
talking Millais, and Frith, and Faed, and 
Luli soon gets weary of the discussion, and 
inspired by the cheerful strains of a piano 
and bells, wanders into the adjoining room, 
where a quadrille is in progress of form- 
ing. Luli is just too late to find a partner, 
and is young enough to reply to the sym- 
pathetic remark of a matron on this sub- 

"There isn't one to spare, you see" 


(rather disconsolately). "But" (with 
rising cheerfulness) " I shall stand here 
and wait. I think, if I stand just here " 
(confidentially), " I shall be sure to get 
one for the next." 

"I'll see that you do, my dear," says 
the matron, smiling ; and Luli, her spirits 
raised by this promise, stands by to amuse 
herself watching the dance. There are 
grown-up girls who know the figures, and 
little ones who don't ; the two little girls 
who are most cm fait at every turn, and 
who consequently take the lead from the 
other little ones, are Kate Craven and a 
slender, dark-eyed girl in a pink-spotted 
muslin frock that looks somewhat faded, 
and is much eclipsed by the fresh and pretty 
snow, white toilettes around her; for all the 
other little girls are as tastefully and 


daintily attired as the grown-up young 
ladies. Luli would not have noticed that 
this girl's dress was inferior to the others 
if she had not heard somebody behind her 
remark that it was "shabby," but that 
"the child was pretty," and "who was 
she ?" To which Mrs. Craven replied con- 
fidentially, in a slightly lowered voice, which 
nevertheless Luli, as she stood beside 
them watching the dance, heard quite 
distinctly — 

" Well, she is a little niece of our land- 
lady's in the place where we lodged down 
at Brighton. She is a very nice, well- 
mannered child, and we got into the habit 
of letting Katie make a companion of her. 
Katie took a fancy to her, you see. They 
are badly off, poor things, of course, and 
they cannot afford to dress her as we dress 


our children. But I like to see simplicity 
in youth," added good Mrs. Craven, charit- 
ably, and proceeded to imply a contradiction 
of her own words by explaining that they 
would have presented little Zora with a 
new dress, but her coming to the party 
had been quite suddenly arranged, to 
please Katie: 

Luli got a partner for the next dance, 
and whirled round the room in high 
delight. Duke Mayburne did not join the 
festive throng in the dancing-room ; he 
was still apparently absorbed talking art to 
his mature charmer in the raven ringlets. 
For the dance following, however, he and 
that lady appeared upon the scene, and 
floated away delicately into a slow polka- 
mazurka. This being a dance unpractised 
by Luli, she was obliged to sink into the 

VOL. I. I 


ranks of the wallflowers again. When it 
was over, Duke deposited his partner under 
the wing of a chaperon and came to invite 
Luli for the following Lancers. Luli 
responded to the invitation delightedly; 
she was proud of having such a big, tall, 
handsome friend ; and then, too, she had 
contracted a habit of carrying all her pro- 
blems of life and the world to Duke for 
him to solve ; and during the progress of 
the polka-mazurka, a new problem had 
suggested itself to her — or, rather, had 
been suggested by the confidential instruc- 
tion she had accidentally heard given by a 
mamma to a little girl who, like Luli, was 
" standing out " of the dance. 

" Do not talk too much to that little 
Zora Brown, my dear," this lady had said 
to her offspring. " I don't wish you to be 


friendly Tvith her. She is not a lady, you 
know ; and your papa and I don't wish 
you to associate with any but little ladies." 

Luli, with great interest in the question 
on which this remark had set her small 
brain pondering, appealed eagerly to Duke 
on the subject as they paired off to take 
their places. 

" Please tell me, how can you know 
whether people are ladies or not ? Because 
I heard that lady say that Zora Brown was 
not a lady ; and I want to know, what 
really makes a lady ?" 

Although she spoke confidentially, Luli 
had not spoken in a prudently lowered 
voice, and had already finished her speech, 
when she perceived, to her horror, Zora 
Brown passing at her elbow, so close that 
she could not fail to have heard the in- 

I 2 


discreetly plain words. That slie liad 
heard them, was evident by her deep 
blush and hasty move away from Luli, 
who, on her part, coloured as deeply, and 
looked far more confused and over- 

This mal-a-propos incident saved Duke 
Mayburne from the responsibility of solv- 
ing the problem Luli had propounded, for 
she was so abashed and distressed by her 
own indiscretion that she made no further 
allusion to it, and was delighted to escape 
from conversation into the mazes of the 

After this dance came supper for the 
younger people, which prospect Luli 
greeted gladly, not only for the natural 
and obvious reason, but also because she 
saw in it a means of endeavouring to atone 


for her error. Accordingly, in the supper- 
room, she armed herself with the most 
oorofeous ecold and silver cracker she could 
find, and making her way up to Zora 
Brown, eagerly touched her arm, and 
whispered, holding out the gilded peace- 

" Please will you pull this with me ? I'm 
so sorry I said that." 

Zora Brown looked a little surprised, 
and then she smiled — looking very pretty 
and pleasant when she smiled — and ac- 
cepted the olive-branch, saying, with a lack 
of eloquence but an abundance of good- 

" Oh, never mind. I didn't care !" 

The cracker was pulled, the motto read, 
and the sugar-plum eaten ; and then Luli, 
who did not feel that she had done quite 


■ enough, glanced round the table till her 
eyes lit on a dish of tempting crystallised 
sugar-rings. She helped herself to these 
with a liberal hand, and brought the plate 
to Zora, saying, ' 

" Please eat these with me ; and you 
won't think anything more about what I 
said, will you ?" ; 

" Oh no," promised Zora, munching a : 
sugared citron-ring. "But I want to 
know too just what you were asking that 
gentleman. You were asking what makes 
a real lady, and that is what I often want 
to know." 

" I will ask papa," said Luli reflectively. 
" Papa is sure to give me an explanation." 

" I've got no papa to ask," said Zora a 
little sadly. 

Luli felt sympathetic, but could not 


think of anything comforting to say or do, 
except pushing the largest and sugariest 
piece of citron she could find into her 
companion's hand. She was more puzzled 
than ever, because there was nothing as far 
as she could detect, in her new acquaint- 
ance's voice, and look, and manner in the 
least incompatible with being a lady. She 
was a pretty, delicate-featured, soft^eyed 
child, with a gentle voice, and very fair, 
small, well-shaped hands, and a sort of 
sweet self-possession of manner which 
made her seem a year or two older than 
Luli, though there was only about a few 
months difference. 

" Where do you live ?" Luli ventured to 
ask, as they grew confidential with the 
ready familiarity of very young girls. 

" At Brighton. Not in a fine house like 


this. My |)eople let furnislied apartments. 
I suppose that's why — " Zora finished her 
sentence with a smile which Luli under- 
stood and answered. 

" No, I don't think that can be it," Luli 
said thoughtfully, continuing in her sim- 
plicity, " because my aunts have people 
staying with them, and they pay for their 
rooms, which is very much the same 

" It seems very much the same thing, 
certainly," said Zora; "but then your 
people are richer than mine, I suppose. 
I'm an orphan, and I'm poor. I shan't 
have any money, ever, unless I marry a 
rich man." 

Marriage did not enter at all into Luli's 
speculations upon life at present, and she 
was not prepared to respond on that 


branch of the subject. So Zora continued, 
waxing warmer and more confidential — 

** And then of course I shall be a lady. 
Money seems to me to be the only thing 
that really makes a lady. They say it's 
other things. I should like to see, if there 
was a duchess in rags, barefoot at a 
crossing with a broom in her hand, who 
would know she was a duchess then ! 
Fine feathers make fine birds." 

" But it takes more than only feathers 
to make birds," rejoined Luli. " The jay, 
you know, was found out, although he 
pretended to be a peacock." 

" But human beings are all one species, 
not cut up into different genuses like 
birds, and beasts, and fishes," said Zora 
the literal, declining to be led away into 


Lull was just rejoining that there were 
black men and white men, which undenia- 
ble assertion might perhaps have beaten 
Zora from the field of argument, when all 
the young people arose from supper to 
make way for their elders. 

"I'm going abroad to-morrow," said 
Lull to Zora Brown at parting, with an 
unconscious accent of pride on the word 
" abroad," " so I'm afraid I shan't see you 
again, but I should like to see you. I like 
to talk to you." 

"I should like to meet you too," said 
Zora, with an affectionate smile. " Are 
you going abroad to school ?" 

"I'm going to travel with papa. But I 
am to go to school part of the time. Have 
you been at school ?" 

" Oh yes, for three years." 


" Ab, I thought you had," said Luli, 
satisfied with her own penetration, " be- 
cause you knew about species and genuses." 

Zora laughed at this. 

"I did not learn Natural History at 
school," she said. *' I bought a book of it, 
full of pictures. I thought, though I was 
only a sparrow, I'd learn all about the pea- 
cocks and canaries." 

Luli embraced Zora Brown at parting ; 
indeed on the strength of her journey on 
the morrow, she flung herself into the arms 
of almost all the ladies and some of the 
old gentlemen present, vowed with many- 
kisses everlasting friendship with Katie- 
Craven, and was only disappointed because 
the publicity of the parting prevented her 
from entering into a similar covenant with. 
" dear old Duke." 


On her return home that night to the 
aunts and her father, there was of course 
—considering the impending journey 
"abroad" and the birthday party — so much 
to be said about so many things that not 
much was said about anything. But Luli 
found time to give Glencairn a hasty nar- 
rative of the "dreadful blunder" she had 
made, and referred to him the vexed ques- 
tion which she was confident in his power 
to solve. 

Glencairn at that hour had not oppor- 
tunity to enter deeply into the subject ; he 
found time, however, to say just enough to 
set Luli pondering more perplexedly than 

" What makes a gentleman ? — what 
makes a lady?" he repeated. "Money? 
Money won't gild vulgarity, child; don't 


fancy it will. Rank? I've known a vis- 
count who was a snob and a sneak. Edu- 
cation ? "Well, the cleverest swindlers and 
rogues I ever met, and I've met many, 
were the best educated. Family ? The 
best blood gets spoilt by a bad cross. 
Family ! why look here, Luli, look at me 
and at yourself — at us two who don't even 
know what we are ! We may be, you and 
I, child, of royal blood or of beggar's blood 
— you may be an Earl's granddaughter or 
a costermonger's ; I may be an admiral's 
son or a cabin-boy's. And is there any- 
one who can tell whether sang azur runs in 
our veins or not ? "We are that which our 
circumstances make us ; and who we really 
are, child, neither you nor I will ever 
know !" 





" If we should meet once more, 
If both should not forget, 
"We shall clasp hands again the accustomed way 
As when we met. 
So long ago, as I remember yet !" 

Christina Rossetti. 

rpiIE tranquil uneventful life wliich Lull 
Glencairn had led under her aunt's 
care, that level, monotonous life, Tvith its 
little daily pleasures and trivial incidents 
that to her seemed important, fell back 
into the past and became but a memory 
from the time that her father took her 
under his own sole charge. 

The change was complete and sudden ; 

VOL. I. K 


the kaleidoscope was sliaken for the first 
time, and the whole pattern of her life 
broke up and sparkled into newer, richer, 
more vivid combinations, and the old forms 
were lost for ever. She had never been 
further from home than on a midsummer 
trip to the seaside ; Glencairn took her to 
live abroad. She had known no city but 
London ; he took her to Paris when Paris 
was in the full brilliance of its Winter 
season. She had no idea of what moun- 
tains and glaciers in their full and beauti- 
ful reality were : he took her on a tour 
through all the highways and byways of 
Switzerland, and enjoyed her delight more 
than he enjoyed any pleasure of his own. 

Although Luli was too young to fully 
understand and appreciate all the pleasures 
of travel, she was quite old enough to enjoy 


them ; and she lived the life of a dream, the 
absolute, simple, self-absorbed happiness 
of a child to whom its own present joy is 

Such pure and simple absorption in the 
present, such limitless delight so bounded 
within the straight and narrow lines of the 
hour that is, comes but once again when 
childhood has past, and comes then as Love. 

So Lull, always a happy and contented 
child, was happier than ever now, and fair- 
ly adored the father who lavished on her 
all these new joys which in her short life 
hitherto she had not even dreamt of. 
.. Glencairn did not, however, waste his 
daughter's life away in an endless idle 
holiday. He attended to her education, 
now putting her to a day-school, then to a 
l)oarding-school, now having a master, and 



then a governess, for her, in all the princi- i 
pal cities of Europe. She learned Italian ; 
in Naples, German in Dresden, and was i 
*' finished" in French at the best establish- 
ment Glencairn could find in Paris. 

Luli was not brilliantly clever ; but she 
was intelligent, painstaking, and anxious 
to please, and was never found a back- 
ward, careless, or unsatisfactory pupil. As 
she grew year by year less of a child, and 
womanly manners and qualities gradually 
developed in her, Glencairn recognised in 
her more and more clearly his wife living 
again. , 

She was very gentle, docile, affectionate, \ 
and governed easily and entirely by her 
affections ; but she was singularly free 
from the besetting faults that too frequent- \ 
ly mar a soft and gentle nature. Of all 


tlie various forms of duplicity, and of the 
weakness that always more or less tends 
towards deceptiveness, Luli had never 
a trace. She was the most guileless, 
credulous, and innocent of children, the 
most stupidly unworldly, the most easily 
managed, and most easily deceived, but 
the last to screen herself in any childish 
fault by any attempt at concealment. She 
was like Glencairn in a certain quiet 
tenacity that verged on obstinacy, and a 
spirit that, notwithstanding all her shy 
gentleness, rose defiant against injustice, 
and that, though it would readily bend to 
kindness, roughness could not break. In 
all other qualities, especially in her spot- 
less truth and tenderness and simplicity, 
she was her mother's living likeness. 
The Glencairns lived abroad for several 


years, now taking a villa or a suite of 
apartments for the season or the year, now 
wandering from hotel to " pension," and 
" pension "to " furnished flat ;" they paid 
occasional visits to England, but these 
visits were few and brief; and Luli lost 
sight of almost all the acquaintances and 
friends of her childhood. The Cravens, 
who had been to her only casual friends of 
a few weeks, and whose acquaintance with 
Glencairn had begun by a mere chance 
meeting in a train, were, oddly enough, the 
friends they saw most of. The Cravens 
liked the Glencairns, and always sought 
them out when the former were in Paris or 
the latter in London. Kate Craven and 
Luli kept up a correspondence, and thus 
were always aware each of the other's 
whereabouts. Of other friends, Duke May- 


burne included, Lull soou quite lost the 
trace ; and it was only chance at last that 
threw Duke May burne across her path 
again some seven or eight years after they 
had drifted apart. 

It was at Etretat they met, to which 
peaceful little village the Glencairns, tired 
of the incessant bustle and gaiety of its 
brilliant neighbour Trouville — a veritable 
Paris-sur-Mer — had come for quiet and 
rest. It was just before the tahle-d'hcHe 
dinner, when the summoning bell was 
momentarily expected to ring, that Duke 
Mayburne was lounging in the courtyard 
of the Hotel Blanquet, being one of a 
straggling and aimless group who were 
standing about in various attitudes of 
placid do-nothingness, watching a white 
pony of rebellious inclinations who refused 


to go the way he should go, and manifest- 
ing a superficial interest in the pony's 
argument with his driver, for the simple 
and obvious reason that there was nothing 
else on the spot to inspire interest until 
the dinner-bell should sound. Duke May- 
burne was standing as aimlessly, and re- 
garding the pony and chaise as neutrally, 
as the rest of the little assembly, when, 
happening to turn his head, he found 
himself face to face with Luli Glencairn, 
though at the first glance he did not re- 
cognise her, and only wondered " why that 
pretty girl was staring at him." She had 
remembered him instantly, and her gaze 
of surprised recognition warmed into a 
pleased and welcoming smile, as she said 

"You here? Why, who would have 
thought of meeting you ?" 


Duke bowed politely, but puzzled, and 
was about to drop a mild liint that he 
should like to be enlig^htened as to the 
name of his fair acquaintance, when sud- 
denly the recollection flashed upon him. 

" Luli — it is Luli Glencairn !" and he 
seized her hand with a delighted smile. 
*' You must forgive me that for the moment 
I was not sure it was you ; you were a 
child, you know, and now — you are so 

grown, so " Duke cast an eloquent 

look upon her face that finished his sen- 
tence satisfactorily. " I need not ask how 
you are, but I've got to ask how you have 
been, and what has become of you all these 

" Papa ! who is this ?" said Luli, turning 
with a bright smile to Glencairn, who just 
then made his appearance on the scene. 


The recognition of the two men, being 
assisted by this hint, was immediate — pro- 
bably would have been immediate even 
without the hint. They grasped hands 
gladly, heartily ; and their meeting was 
cordial enough to delight *Luli, who ex- 
claimed with playful reproach, 

" And papa, he didn't know me a bit at 
first !" 

" I appeal to you, Mr. Glencairn, as to 
whether there is any marvel in my remiss- 
ness at recognising in this lady the child I 
used to play with " 

" And cut out comic pictures for, and 
give puppies to," interposed Luli merrily. 

The dinner-bell now clanged out a deaf- 
ening summons, and the three went in 
together to the taUe-dhote, talking all the 


It was perhaps not a matter of surprise^ 
that Lull should have known Duke May- 
burne before he recognised her. He was 
scarcely changed at all ; he had grown a 
light moustache ; he was a handsome man 
instead of a handsome boy ; he was broader 
of shoulder and more self-possessed of 
manner and polished of accent ; but in 
face he was singularly little altered. The 
years that had ripened Luli from the child 
to the girl — for you could hardly call that 
fair, slight, fresh, frank, light-hearted 
creature a woman yet — had altered her 
far more, and improved as much as they 
had changed. 

She had been pretty, as all fair-com- 
plexioned, golden-haired children with no 
positive disfigurement are pretty ; she was 
now really beautiful. She had grown tall 


and very slight ; indeed tlie sligHtness of 

her figure and the pure transparent pink 

and white of her complexion indicated that 

her health was probably not robust. Her 

hair was a shade darker than it used to be, 

but it was still of a golden tint, too warm 

for flaxen, too bright for yellow, without a 

trace in auburn in all its hues, pure ripe 

gold in the light, and richly embrowned in 

the shadows. Her features were regular; 

her small delicate face was of an oval 

shape, and her eyes — were those large soft 

eyes blue or grey ? Duke Mayburne could 

not solve that point when he came to 

notice them ; they seemed to him 

" Eyes too expressive to be blue, 
Too lovely to be grey !" 

He manoeuvred successfully to sit next 
to Luli at dinner, naturally deeming it 


pleasant to sit by one of the prettiest girls 
at the table, with whom he suddenly found 
himself on delightfully friendly terms. 

"You don't look much like quill-pens 
and red-ruled ledgers," observed Glen- 
cairn, good-humouredly regarding the 
young man's attire. Duke's coat was a 
loose velvet one ; his collar was sufficiently 
low and his tie sufficiently neglvje to look 
artistic ; he was probably well aware that 
a certain amount of neglige suited his pic- 
turesque style ; and the hat, which on en- 
tering the room he had hung up on one of 
the pegs for that purpose provided, was a 
soft slouched felt, not unsuitable to the 
stao:e brio^and. 

'' No ; my weapon is the pencil, and not 
the quill, I rejoice to say." 

" I should have thought it was the brush," 


suggested Luli, to whom a pencil did not 
appear an artistic implement. 

"Brush and oils are in the future," he 
replied. "My works at present merely 
serve to embellish the ephemeral literature 
on which you expend your monthly shilling 
or your weekly sixpence. I started finally 
at the foot of the ladder, but only after one 
or two vain endeavours to leap up to the 
top at a bound. Those endeavours remain 
in my little studio with their faces to the 
wall and the dust settling on their backs." 

" You did not enter your uncle's office 
then ?" said Glencairn. " I think I heard 
something from Miss Potter of your deter- 

"Yes; Aunt Ohrissy told us that news 
— and added her comments thereupon !" 
said Luli, with rather a mischievous little 


" "Which were probably of a kind uncom- 
plimentary to my wisdom, if not doubtful 
of my sanity ?" conjectured Duke with an 
amused lauofh. 

"And how do you find it answer?" in- 
quired Glencairn. 

" Oh, I get on well enough," replied the 
young artist lightly. " I have never ex- 
perienced anything nearer starvation than 
being reduced to a mutton-chop and a pint 
of bitter ale. To be sure that happened at 
first with rather monotonous frequency ; 
but I have had no nearer acquaintance 
with the wolf at the door than throwing 
him the bone of my chop out of the 

Duke tossed his handsome curly head 
back with a smile that was partly defiant 
of the Fates and partly confident in them. 


Lull and lie talked on, and laughed ; and 
Glencairn put in a word now and then. 
Their neighbours at the table were no 
drawback to the freedom of their conversa- 
tion, as all around them the Erench tongue, 
and the French only, babbled shrill and 
voluble above the clattering of the forks. 

After dinner the trio did not separate, 
but walked together along the beach, and 
watched the cliffs in the fading light of 
sunset, and then resorted to the little 
"Casino" by the sea, where the various 
visitors to Etretat were taking their plea- 
sure according to their various tastes. The 
Glencairns and Duke Mayburne sat at a 
little table discussing tiny cups of cafe noir 
in one of the verandahs facing the sea, 
while from the music-room issued snatches 
of Offenbach-ian airs, and from the billiard- 


room the click of the cue ou the ball, and 
from the little scattered tables the popping 
of lemonade-corks ; and along the terrace 
a stream of dark figures, like moving sil- 
houettes against the grey sky and sea, took 
their nightly promenade. There was a 
Hght perpetual murmur of voices and low 
laughter, and now and then a shrill childish 
burst of merriment broke in upon the 
bright dance-music without jarring it. 
Behind it all the sea whispered its eternal 
secrets softly to the shore. Some few stray 
units of the public had wandered down 
over the rough stones to the water's edge ; 
but the public in general preferred the 
smoothly-paved terrace, and the lively 
strains of the band, who made night gay 
with their minstrelsy. 

The scene was pretty and the time was 

VOL. I. L 


peaceful, and things in general were very 
pleasant, all the more pleasant to Duke 
Mayburne for Lull's presence, all the more 
pleasant to her for his. 

" Good night. May I say Lull still, or 
must I be formal now ?" he asked, as they 

" We are too old friends to be Mr. May- 
burne and Miss Glencairn, surely," she 
replied, frankly, giving him her hand. 

" Good night, Luli, then." 

" And good night, Duke." 

They did not lower their voices nor im- 
port any sentiment into the occasion ; they 
were simply frank and friendly as old 
playmates and companions naturally are ; 
and Glencairn had no lecture to read Luli 
on the familiarity of her manner ; nor was 
she, who was still simple and open as a 


child, in the least fearful lest she should 
have been too unreserved. She had been 
almost as naively, naturally affectionate in 
her greeting to her childhood's friend and 
hero as if she had met a brother. Glencairn 
had brought her up freely, though not 
carelessly ; he knew his daughter's nature 
well, trusted her implicitl}^, and left her the 
almost perfect liberty he deemed she 
merited; thus she had grown up alike 
more simple and innocent, and more free 
and fearless than most girls who have 
mothers to guard and guide, and sisters to 
grow up with them. 

" Handsome fellow young Mayburne is 
still," observed Glencairn. "Not gone off 
a bit — rather improved, in fact." 

" Yes, he is," agreed Luli. " If you had 
not pulled him out of the river, papa, there 


148 GLENCAmN. 

would liave been one fewer of the already 
too few perfectly handsome faces in the 
world," she added, demurely, nestling her 
two hands through her father's arm, as 
they walked homewards. 

These were fair samples of the class of 
remarks that were always the first to be 
made about Duke Mayburne. Everybody 
who spoke of him at all spoke first of his 
appearance — as the exception, to criticise, 
— as the rule, to admire. He paid the 
penalty of being like a piece of living 
sculpture, and looking as if he had been 
modelled from the antique, by being al- 
ways talked about as if he were only a 
fine specimen of animal nature, admirably 
bred to carry off the prize at a show of 
beautiful humanity. When people knew 
him better they came to observe him in 


other lights, — to see that he was what the 
world, both masculine and feminine, ap- 
proves as "a very good fellow," frank, 
sanguine, healthy-tempered, affectionate, 
and sincere, with no more vanity than must 
of necessity accompany such a face and 
figure, and with plenty of versatility and 
energy and talent, which did not, however, 
promise to rise to genius. 

But ou a first acquaintance he was as 
a rule regarded merely in the light of a 
highly successful specimen of masculine 



" Between the sunset and the sea, 
Love watched one hour of love with me." 


rj^HE custom of having sitting-rooms 
does not prevail at Etretat. You go 
tliere to lead an out-of-door life, and a 
sitting-room is regarded as a superfluity. 
It is evident by the construction and ar- 
rangement of the houses, both public and 
private, that the architects and landlords 
looked upon it as heterodox to spend more 
hours within four walls than are necessary 
for eating, drinking, and sleeping. You 


cau entertain your friends at table-dhote 
dinner ; you can smoke and play billiards 
with them at the Casino ; you can meet 
them on the beach ; but for society, as re- 
presented by morning-calls and drawing- 
room visits, there is no provision, so that 
unless you are rarely fortunate or unusually 
extravagant in your accommodation, you 
have no medium between receiving your 
visitors in the privacy of your sleeping 
apartment or in the publicity of the general 

It was consequently on the beach that 
the Glencairns encountered Duke Mayburne 
next. Luli and her father were sitting 
watching the bathers, when the young 
artist, who had evidently been looking for 
them, came up and joined their group. 
They had been fortunate enough to secure 


two of tLe curious little •wooden chairs 
whicli Etretat generously provides (gratis !) 
for its visitors ; and as there was not a 
vacant chair to be found near, Duke pro- 
ceeded to stretch himself on the beach at 
their feet, cheerfully regardless of the 
roughness of the stones. It was a fine 
morning, and all Etretat, that is to say, 
all the visitors and Summer residents, were 
out upon the beach, half to bathe, and the 
other half to look on at the bathing. This 
was the correct and regular rule, which 
scarcely anyone departed from ; everyone 
either disported him or herself in the sea, 
or watched those who were so disporting 
themselves for admiration or criticism. 

The sea inshore was green as emerald 
and clear as glass ; the very pebbles could 
be counted through the transparent waves 


beyond the white ribbon of surf that out- 
lined the curving shore. Further out at 
sea, the green was dashed with dark 
splashes of calm deep purple ; and green 
and purple towards the horizon melted 
into a line of vivid blue. On the left side 
of the bay, beyond the cliffs, the Aiguille 
rock stood out high and lofty and lonely 
as the spire of a cathedral ; to the right, 
the ridge of rock, honeycombed into natu- 
ral archways, ran out to sea like an arm 
stretched forth by the high battlemented 
cliffs to guard the ba}^ The land and 
sea lay bathed in sunshine, peaceful 
and silent, except for the murmur of the 
waves. Humanity supplied an abundant 
element of amusement and bustle in the 
scene. From out of the little square 
" cabins " of wood or canvas arranged in 


rows and blocks along the upper part of 
the beach, remarkable figures kept emerg- 
ing, and crossing the wide slope of shore 
between the cabins and the sea, running 
the gauntlet of hundreds of amused and 
curious eyes on their way ; for the specta- 
tors had come one and all, as they came 
daily, to see and criticise and be amused. 

Those bathers who were habituated to 
the manners and customs of the place 
walked leisurely and coolly down the beach 
in their various costumes de bam, pausing 
now and then to address a word or two to 
their friends on the way. Those whose 
first venture it was wrapped their cloaks 
closely about them, and hastened along, 
looking half ashamed of themselves. 
People who were vain of their figures 
stood posed in elegant attitudes on the 


diviog-plaDk before leaping ; people who 
had no cause for vanity plunged in with 
baste and hurry. Young girls with white 
peignoirs robed loosely round them, tripped 
daintily down to the water's edge, and, 
dropping the snowy wrappers and stepping 
forth graceful and pretty in their neat 
Bloomer-like costumes, ran lightly into the 

Some old gentlemen marched solemnly- 
down and took off their spectacles and gave 
them into the care of friends, and stood on 
the brink and shouted for a bathino-.mau 
to come and lead them forth to the combat 
with the waves ; other old gentlemen with 
silvery beards ran up the plank with the 
activity of youth and precipitated them- 
selves head first into ten feet of water. 

Luli Glencairn was highly amused ; and 


she and Duke Mayburne cliattered and 
laughed, in occasionally uncharitable mer- 
riment, while Glencairn, with a huge 
umbrella over his head to keep the sun off, 
pored over a book of travels, and occa- 
sionally smiled scornful incredulity at the 

Luli was holding up a parasol lined with 
pink, which reflected a becoming rosy tint 
on her face ; she had a black velvet ribbon 
tied round her neck, which made her fair 
skin look fairer than ever ; she wore a 
light grey dress and an oval grey straw 
hatj and except for the relief of a pink 
flower, and a gleam of pink ribbon, her 
golden hair was the brightest spot of colour 
in the undeniably pretty picture she made 
— a picture all the prettier for the childlike 
mirth which lit up her eyes and dimpled 
her cheek with smiles. 

GLE^■CAIE^^ 157 

" Look ! just look at his bald head ! isn't 
it like a white life-buoy bobbing about ?" 
she exclaimed in a confidential whisper, as 
one ancient gentleman, with only a very 
thin and frao-ile frinore of hair around his 
scalp, swam shore wards. 

" Who is ^the wasp ?" inquired Duke, 
indicating a tall, slim young man clad all 
in brilliant stripes of black and gold. 

" I don't know. He bathed yesterdaj'. 
He is French, I think, and dives beauti- 
fully. Watch him !" The black and gold 
gentleman walked up to the highest end of 
the plank and plunged head first, like an 
arrow painted in zebra stripes, down through 
the clear green water. " Now — now ! look 
at the one in crimson !" continued Luli. 
" See how he poses and faces the audience, 
as if he were before the footlights. He is 


■always doing statues ; yesterday he folded 
his arms and looked like Julius Cgesar ; lie 
stretches his arms up before he dives, and 
stands like a Caryatides ; and the other day 
when it was very rough, he did the Dying 
Gladiator beautifully, leaning on one elbow 
in the surf." 

" He is Mark Antony to-day, and there 
is his Cleopatra — crowned and bejewelled," 
observed Duke, as the gentleman in the 
elegant crimson costume bowed low and 
extended his hand to a young lady in an 
elaborate blue-braided toilette de hain, with 
her hair all concealed by a lofty and bright- 
ly trimmed head-dress of oilskin, and still 
wearing a broad gold bracelet on each arm. 
As this pair exchanged courteous and 
graceful greeting, the Zebra emerged, 
sputtering, dripping, breathless, from the 


waves, almost at their feet, and endea- 
voured to emulate tlie grace of tlie other's 
bow of recoornition to the fair wearer of 
the bracelets; but the laudable attempt 
was a lamentable failure ; and Cleopatra 
accepted Mark Antony's offered hand. 

" She can't swim," said Luli, " and Mark 
Antony can swim just a little, and is very 
proud of it, and splashes about in the most 
conspicuous place he can find, taking great 
care not to be very much out of his depth, 
but making sure that everybody will have 
the opportunity of admiring him." 

"You are such a severe little critic, 
Luli, that I rejoice heartily that I bathed 
early this morning, when your critical eyes 
were not here to behold." 

" I never laugh at the honest cowards," 
began Luli, explanatorily, but was not 
allowed to finish her sentence. 


" Thank you !" exclaimed Dake, laiigli- 
ingly, opening his handsome grey eyes to 
their widest extent. " Thank you very 
much ! that really is a great satisfaction. 
Honest cowards are exempt from your 
ridicule ; and you kindly assure me of the 
fact. I ajDpreciate the delicate inference !" 

" I did not mean anything of that kind," 
protested Luli, "and you know I did not — 
only you wouldn't hear me out !" 

"I apologise," he said, humbly. "It 
was very rude of me to interrupt you, but 
I really couldn't help it. That's my invaria- 
ble excuse for all my sins, as you will find 
out, and I generally find it answer. "Well, 
now, continue. You never laugh " 

" Only at people who are affected and 
strike attitudes; and, yes, I am afraid 
sometimes at fat old people, who are very 


awkward ! It's very uncliaritable of me, I 
kuow ; but I really can't help it." 

" My invariable excuse, literally and 
exactly repeated !" said Duke, triumphant- 
ly. " See, Luli, what a thing it is to have 
a friend who sets you good examples ! 
May the lesson learned this day bear fruit !" 
he added, in a pompous and slightly nasal 
tone, that made Luli laugh a pretty tink- 
liug laugh musical as a carillon of bells, as 
she answered, 

" I didn't need that example at all ; I am 
a great deal too much given already to say- 
ing ' I can't help it !' " 

" You cannot be too much given to so 
useful a habit," he responded. "It is a 
most serviceable weapon wherewith to 
clear your own way and get your own will 
in this world." 

VOL. I. M 


" How is that ?" asked Luli. 

" To say that ' you cannot help ' doing a 
thing is a polite and euphuistic way of 
conveying that you intend to do it," said 
Duke, as solemnly as a judge. 

" I'm afraid those are not very orthodox 
moral lessons you are reading to my little 
girl, Master Duke," observed Glencairn, 
shutting up his book with one of his soft, 
subtle, half cynical smiles. 

" If they are not good ones, I am very 
confident Luli will never learn them," said 
Duke, dropping his mimic gravity, and 
speaking frankly and deferentially. 

" That's about true," said Glencairn, 
turning his eyes slowly upon his daughter's 
face, with the tenderness just touched by 
sadness with which he often looked at her. 

Their little group was presently joined 


by a French family, consisting of parents, 
two daughters, and a son of tender years — 
acquaintances of a day whom tlie Glen- 
cairns had casually picked up. But Duke 
Mayburne did not separate from the party. 
All together they walked up the cliff, to 
*' the little grey church on the windy hill," 
as Duke, who had quotations from ancient 
and modern poets at his fiiigers' ends, 
immediately dabbed it. All together they 
met on the beach again at the second great 
assembly of the " beauty and the chivalry " 
of Etretatj i.e., the afternoon bathing, 
which is, if possible, a more fashionable 
and regular lounge than the morning bath- 
ing. Not all together, but three together, 
Glencairn, Duke, and Luli, they resorted 
once more to the beach during the sunset 


164 GLE^^CAIRN. 

hour wlien the tahh-d-hote was orer ; and 
secretly two out of the three at least re- 
joiced that their party was reduced to a 
trio again, and hoped that the family of 
agreeable and conversationally inclined 
foreigners would not find them out in their 
secluded spot on the now quiet and com- 
paratively lonely beach, which by morning 
and afternoon sunlight was so gay. 

The outlines of the cliffs were clear and 
bold in this last hour of daylight ; the 
broad bay lay calm and tranquil ; the sea 
was deep and shadowy and darkly blue ; 
soft clouds were floating in the dim azure 
of the sky ; and all along the horizon the 
flame of sunset burned. 

Looking out across the sea to the lurid 
west, Duke Mayburne began quoting 
Browning's " Home Thoughts." 


"Nobly, nobly Cape St. Vincent to the north-west died 

away ; 
Sunset ran, one gorgeous blood red, reeking into Cadiz 

Bluish mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay, 
In the dimmest north-east distance dawned Gibraltar 

grand and gray." 

"Do you know those lines, Lull ?" 
" No ; whose are they ?" said Luli, all 
her attention awake, bending towards him 
with such hushed and eager interest that 
she needed not to utter any words of ap- 

Duke continued — 

" Here, and here, did England help me! how can /help 

England, say ! 
Whoso turns as I this evening turn to God to praise 

and pray. 
While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa !" 

" Browning !" said Glencairn, quietly, in 
a matter-of-fact way. 

" Those fiery sunsets always recall those 
lines to me," observed Duke. 


Lull did not say a word ; her cheek was 
resting on her hand ; and her large, soft 
eyes gazed out pensively over the sea. 
But Duke knew by some sure instinct that 
she had listened in rapt attention to every 
line. Duke Mayburne had a deep musical 
voice, and did not recite poetry at all 

"I have seen a sunset like that, only 
more vivid, off Gibraltar," said Glencairn. 
" There are some hours that almost make 
a poet of one in spite of one's self." 

"It is such hours as those, I fancy," 
observed Duke, " which account for those 
occasional incomprehensible successes that 
occur but once, rockets that blaze and 
fall. Such influences must be the moving 
spring of the people who make one hit, 
write one poem, paint one picture, rise for 

(;lencairn. 167 

once to genius, and then are heard of no 

"I sometimes think that every man is 
capable of one flight into genius during 
his life," said Glencairn, meditatively. " The 
question is, does one true poem make a poet, 
or one picture an artist ?" 

" I should fancy," said Luli, half hesitat- 
ingly, in her soft appealing way, " that if 
a man can write one good poem, the power 
of poetry must be in him, even if it can 
only be developed under certain circum- 
stances. And if circumstances can once 
develop that latent power, why should 
not such circumstances occur again, and 
again draw it out ?" 

'' I think Luli has hit upon a truth," said 


" I have known the child teach me truths 
before now," said Glencairn. 

Luli nestled a little nearer to her father 
with a caressing smile ; but which of the 
two men's approval she valued most, who 
shall say ? 

The three sat there upon the shore until 
the fire of sunset had sunk, and paled, and 
faded away into the dusky mingling of sky 
and sea, and the young crescent sailed 
slowly up over the tall cliffs to the left, 
where the Aiguille Rock stood out distinct 
among the grey shades. Then they walked 
together along the terrace and lounged 
through the Casino and turned homewards. 

When she had bid good-night to her 
father and shut herself into her room that 
night, Luli opened her window, and leant 
upon the sill, looking out at the dark sea 


and the dark sky, and the black, moveless 
masses on the beach that looked like 
strange, shapeless black animals sleeping, 
but were only the fishermen's covered and 
roofed-in boats. 

She waited there silently, with the cool 
sweet sea-breeze breathing peace and 
serenity round her, and fanning her cheek 
with a soft and sleepy caress, until a red 
spark brightened out of the darkness and 
a shadow fell upon the ground just under 
her window. 

Duke had mentioned to her casually that 
he walked that path with his nightly cigar. 
She did not know that she wished to see 
him pass ; she did not think about ana- 
l^'sing her feelings; she had not asked 
herself why she leant so long out of her 
window this night ; but there she remained 


until that tall dark figure drew near. He 
looked up, and recognized her in the 
flickering lamplight, though not more 
clearly and instantly than she recognized 
him through the shadows. He stood a 
moment, and raised his brigandish-looking 
hat as he looked up at her window. Then 
she drew slowly back, so gradually that her 
white figure seemed to melt away in the 
hazy lights and shades of her room ; and 
that night she leant from her window no 
more, nor peered into the passing shadows 



" It was a sad and happy time, you say ; 
Yet sweet as is an ever -changing tune ! 
Ah me ! the close of that still July day 

When with the sun's excess earth seemed to swoon, 
And we together wandered on the shore, 

Half feeling we should wander there no more !" 


rriHE suu of another day is setting be- 
-*- hind the sea at Etretat. The moon, 
that was a few evenings ago a pale 
crescent, will be almost a full orb when she 
rises this night. The Glencairns are sitting 
on the shore watching the sunset again ; it 
has become a resrular custom with them : 
they never miss a sunset now, be it fair or 


cloudy; and they never sit watching it 

This night the sea is clear as a mirror 
and calm as a lake ; the real cliffs standing 
up bold and dusky against the pale dreamy 
blue sky are scarcely more clearly outlined 
than the reflected grey cliffs that dip down 
in the serene grey sea. Away on the 
horizon the azure of the sky melts into gold 
and deepens into rose ; the great burning 
sun has sunk in a blaze of light just now ; 
the brilliance of the western colours is 
paling, and crimson, gold, and azure are 
blending into a harmony lovelier than their 
vanished and contrasted glories. 

The family Delamotte have joined the 
Glencairns to-night ; they are seated on a 
semi-circle of chairs in a sociable group. 
Luli is at the extremity of the semi-circle, 


having purposely choseu her place ou the 
outskirts of the group. 

She wears, iu lieu of hat or bonnet, a 
pink and white woollen square pinned over 
her head and falling to her shoulders ; 
for Etretat (in these the early days of its 
popularity) is primitive in its manners and 
customs, and allows startling liberty iu 
vagaries of costume. Gentlemen prome- 
nade the terrace in high conical straw hats 
adorned with rosettes ; a square red or 
blue beret is the fashionable morning wear ; 
and ladies discard hats in favour of hoods, 
of all varieties of shape and in all the 
colours of the rainbow, whenever the 
spirit so moves them. Duke has told Luli 
that the light fleecy woollen kerchief she 
wears is far more becoming and picturesque 
than a hat, and Luli studies the picturesque 


accordingly. She is leaning back in her 
wooden chair ; her head slightly turned to 
join in the half French, half English con- 
versation, her hands lying idly in her lap ; 
she is fair and fresh and lovely in the 
fading light ; the sunset is beautiful ; they 
are all saying how charming it is ; and Luli 
is very enthusiastic in her expressions of 
delight ; but she is not happy ; she is rest- 
less and disturbed; her eyes are inclined 
to tears ; and lier heart is beating un- 

Foolish child ! why is this ? Is she not 
young and beautiful, with a life full of 
limitless hopes and possibilities ? — is she 
not at this loveliest hour of the day look- 
ing on the loveliest scene the place affords ? 
— is not Duke Mayburne in the same vil- 
lage, probably now not many hundred yards 


off? supreme unreasonableness and 
folly of the dawn of Love ! he is not by 
her side just at this moment; and some- 
thing may possibly have happened to pre- 
vent his coming ; and it is a whole long 
half -hour later than he has ever been be- 
fore ! And for these mighty and sufficing 
causes the child's heart is full of sadness 
and disappointment. This is their last 
evening but one ! and if he should fail 
to-night, they will see only one more 
sunset together ! and she feels miserable 
at the thought. 

Another half -hour has past ; and the 
sunset has faded ; the stars are coming 
out shyly one by one; and Luli is su- 
premely happy, for Duke is by her side. 
Naturally he takes his seat next Luli ; and 
as she has chosen her place on the ex- 


treme edge of the social circle naturally 
they two soon drift away out of the gene- 
ral conversation into a tete-a-tete of their 

" Have you finished your picture of the 
little grey church on the windy hill?" 

'' No ; not yet. I have been haunted all 
day by a wild desire to do Hiawatha,— sail- 
ing into the purple vapours," you know ; 
these sunsets have suggested the idea to me 
so forcibly. I would set to work at it im- 
mediately ; but that fellow Noakes has done 
it already. He is always getting the 
start of me in ideas." 

" Noakes ? Yes^ I know him. What do 
you think of him ? " 

" Landscape — good," pronounced Duke. 
"Figures — fashion-plate. Did you ever 
see mortal woman with such shoulders 


and waists as all Noakes's girls have ? " 

" I don't admire his girls much, certain- 
ly. He does not look much like an 
artist. I used to meet him very often 
in Rome." 

*'In Kome ! Happy Luli, to have seen 
Bome ! and yet I do not know that I am 
not more to be envied ; for my first sight 
of Rome is before me still. 1 hope to go 
this Winter." 

" This Winter," said Luli, with a totally 
unconscious accent of disappointment. 
" We shall be in London all this Winter, I 

" Why don't you winter in Italy ?" asked 
Duke ; " don't you hate London fogs and 
frosts? Think what delightful times we 
might have all together m Rome !" 

VOL. I. N 


" How I sHould like it ! I want to do 
Rome again ; I am afraid I did not fully 
appreciate it. My taste is so -uncultivated, 
you see ; I always want to be talked to 
about things — " 

" And told what to admire ?" he re- 
sponded. "All right; come to Eome, and 
I'll tell you where to be enthusiastic." 

" I wish we were going to winter in Italy ; 
but I'm afraid there is not the slightest 
chance, " said Luli, who w^as too simple 
and unconscious to disguise a tone of re- 

This very simplicity of hers slightly mis- 
led Duke Mayburne, who was more pre- 
pared for a woman's saying what she did 
not mean than what she did. Luli seemed 
to him now, except that she was taller and 
prettier and better cultivated, exactly the 


same simple, affectionate, confiding cliild 
that slie liad been eight years before. 
Tbej bad been early playfellows, and now 
were very good friends, with just that 
tinge of romance colouring their friendship 
which generally forms an element in friend- 
ship between the opposite sexes in their 
youth. Lull was so utterly free from self- 
analysis and self-consciousness that there 
was in her tone and manner none of the 
coy coquetry, nor fitful reserve, nor caprice, 
nor shyness, which Duke Mayburne would 
have well understood. As it was, he did 
not realise how rapidly the old childish 
friendship on her side was deepening and 
warming, and rising into love. 

" Let us walk to the Mairie and see if 
the aborigines are dancing their war-dance 
to-nig:ht," he suo-grested, after the last 



golden beam of sunset liad faded and the 
moon had risen, and was silvering the tiled 
roofs of the little village. 

The motion was carried by unanimous 
vote ; and away to the Place de la Mairie 
accordingly the whole party directed their 
steps, that being the spot where the natives 
were wont to hold their revels, and where 
the visitors occasionally resorted to look on 
curiously, as if on the gambols of " war- 
ranted harmless " members of the Comanche 

The natives were evidently holding high 
festivity this night. Men and women, old 
and young, were dancing round hand-in- 
hand in a great circle to the music of their 
own voices. All were singing, some out of 
tune, some (but not so many) in tune. 
One big fellow, in a loose blue blouse, was 


apparently tlie leader of the melody, aud 
the ruling spirit of the dance. The circle 
of dancers whirled around in perfect 
rhythm with their song, now singing softly 
and circling slowly, slackening as their 
voices sank until they were moving at a 
languid walk, then treading the measure 
faster as the song rose higher, till the up- 
roar of the chorus filled all the Place, and 
the rush of the dance grew fast and furious. 
Some of the dancers, exhausted, loosed 
hands, and dropped out of the circle, which 
united again instantly as they fell back 
from it ; fresh recruits kept joining ; 
the circle increased and increased as it 
whu'led around, till, at the fastest rush of 
the dance, and the highest tumult of the 
song, it broke and spread all over the 
Place (causing the nearest of the spectators 


to beat a hasty retreat), and men and 
women, still singing, caught hands again, 
and fell spontaneously into smaller rings, 
which, like bubble circles in the water, 
spread and spread, till all were mingled 
into the one great whole ; and then the 
entire thing began again. 

It reminded Luli somehow of the 
Witches' Dance in Macbeth, only, instead 
of the blue fires of the cauldron, the scene 
was lit by a full golden moon, pouring 
down a flood of light upon the leaping 
figures that wheeled and whirled around 
as wildly as Indians in a war-dance. In 
the shadows of the sparse fringe of trees 
that border the Place, the small and select 
audience stood looking on at this new 
hallei divertissement, with the open ground 
for a stage, the twinkling light of the 


Mairie for footlights, and a first-rate move- 
able moon overhead. 

Duke happened to remark upon the 
suggestiveness of a Red Indian festival in 
the scene ; the observation was by no 
means original — indeed, it was the stock 
remark that all the audience were bound 
to make in turn ; and Glencairn responded, 

" So I've heard people say — who never 
saw a Bed Indian !" 

" I never did, except in a show, and I 
fear he was merely painted with red 
ochre," admitted Duke good-humouredly. 

"/never saw even a sham Indian," said 
Luli. " Papa ! you ought to have brought 
me home one, stuffed !" 

" Shall I buy you a native here ? a live 
one, to entertain your friends at the next 
London evening party by a specimen of the 
aboriginal dance ?" 


" Oh, wliy doesn't somebody introduce 
La Ronde into civilized society ?" exclaimed 
Luli enthusiastically. " What a delightful 
change it would be from the everlasting 
quadrilles and Lancers !" 

"And how perfectly in keeping with 
black cut-away coats and tarlatan trains 
and white gloves those graceful antics 
would be — such as that gentleman is per- 
forming now !" observed Duke with an 
amused smile, indicating a burly broad- 
shouldered peasant who, shouting at the 
top of his stentorian voice something about 
" Vive la jeunesse — vive I'amour !" was 
leaping half his own height into the air and 
cutting a series of truly remarkable capers. 

Presently Glencairn suggested that, if 
Luli "had had enough of it," he was 
amply content ; and they all three walked 


back to the hotel and bade each other good 
night in the courtyard. Luli went to her 
room and sat by her window as usual. 
For this too had become a regular custom. 
As surely as evening after evening they 
met on the beach by sunset, so night after 
night, Luli sat watching at her window till 
Duke passed on his nightly smoke and 
ramble. She never had very long to wait ; 
but had it been lono; she would have 
watched and waited still, and deemed the 
evening incomplete if it was not crowned 
and finished by that momentary glimpse of 
his tall figure pacing along the shore. 
Duke knew of course on whose window-sill 
the white figure always leant, silent as a 
picture; he always looked up, waved his 
hand, and smiled as he went by; it was 
pleasant to know she would be there look- 


ing down ; but lie would not liave missed 
much in the evening if on passing he had 
looked up at an empty window, — the 
frame without the picture- — and seen no 
candle glimmering on golden hair. He 
would not have wondered, and would have 
slept as sound as usual. 
The happy 

" Days of summer-coloured seas, 
Days of many melodies," 

went by ; the last morning of the Glencairns' 
stay at Etretat came. It was a stormy 
morning, of constant wind and capricious 
showers. Glencairn, Duke, and Luli made 
their way, under united umbrellas, in the 
teeth of the wind, to the Casino, where 
Glencairn resorted to the reading-room, 
and Luli looked wistfully towards the 


" You'll get blown away if you go on the' 
beach; you had better sit down under 
shelter," said her father. 

" I don't want to miss going down to the 
sea this last morning," pleaded Luli. 

" Let me take Luli along the beach," said 
Duke eagerly. " Trust me; I will not let 
her be blown away into the waves." 

"All right," said Glencairn carelessly, 
nodding assent, without looking up from 
the columns'of the " Moniteur," but calling 
after her as she hastened to avail herself of 
the permission, " Keep your cloak wrapt 
close round you, Luli ; it's cold." 

Duke offered Luli his arm, and they 
made their way together across the terrace 
and down on to the beach. 

It was the hour and the place for th& 
morning bathing — but bathers there were 


none. The haigneurs, those hardy old sea- 
dogs, who spend the best part of their 
days in the water, teaching novices to 
swim and encouraging timid bathers to 
plunge bravely, were lounging on the 
shore, their " occupation gone," and would 
have been in dry clothes, for a marvel, if 
it had not been for the drenching spray. 

The big waves are plunging like hungry 
wild beasts upon the stones, with a roar as 
if furious that no prey should be offered 
to them. Now and then they seem to 
pause for a moment before breaking, and 
you catch a glimpse of a cave of deep 
emerald roofed with white-fretted foam for 
just the space of a flash, before the 
emerald vault curves and crashes in, and a 
storm of snowy surf bursts on the beach. 
These green, deep hollows of the wave, 


that only exist for the moment, remiud 
one strangely of the croucb of a beast of 
prey, followed by the leap and the crash 
and the roar. 

The horizon is piled up with thunder- 
ous-looking clouds ; thick mists of cloud 
are coming down upon the cliffs ; there is 
not a bit of blue peeping out in sky or sea. 
The white horses are galloping shorewards 
one after another, tossino^ their foaming: 
manes; the spray is flying on the shore, and 
beats into the faces of Duke and Luli as 
they stand together by the sea. 

"It is not the least good trying to put 
the umbrella up," says Luli, laughing at 
Duke's endeavour to open that implement, 
and at the games which the wind, like a 
tricksy sprite, plays with it meanwhile. " It 
does not rain ; and I like the spray." 


" I believe you are quite glad that this 
is our last morning !" observes Duke, look- 
ing down at her bright face. " The very 
elements are testifying their distress in un- 
mistakeable language; and you are as 
bright as yesterday's sun was !" 

" Because yesterday's sun ivas bright ; 
and we have had all the brightness, and it 
seems that we are taking the sunshine and 
the Summer away with us," she replies — 
and adds, after a moment, with truly 
feminine consistency, "But you needn't 
remind me of its being the last day." 

" Here is something to divert you from 
the reflection successfully," responded 
Duke. " Behold ! a heroic bather comes to 
dare the dangers of the deep !" 

The announcement is true, and a general 
thrill of interest runs through the few 


faitliful habitues of the batliing-quarter of 
the beach, whom not even the wind and 
showers have kept from their daily resort, 
as this interesting object appears. All 
eyes are turned upon the hero, who has 
issued in full costume de bain from his 
cabin, and is marching grandly down the 
beach. He is stout ; he is tall ; he is bald ; 
he is of imposing presence, and appears 
not at all unconscious of his proud position 
as the unique braver of the elements at 
that hour. Luli, amongst others, watches 
him with great interest. 

He beckons one of the hardy old sea- 
dogs, who hastens to respond to the sum- 
mons. Taking the brawny hand of help 
extended to him, the hero strides valiantly 
towards the stormy ocean. Leisurely he 
marches forwards until the surf reaches 


nearly up to liis knees, and then stands still. 
Will he leap forward and dive under the 
next wave ? The retreating surf leaves him 
standing high and dry. Composedly as 
one selecting a bed of slumber he lies down 
upon the hard stones. The next moment 
a wave breaks, and the surf rushes up 
and covers him, and disrespectfully rolls 
him over and over like a cork. The hero 
evidently does not like it; he splutters and 
scrambles to his feet wildly, clutching the 
helping hand of the bathing man, and takes 
up his position a little farther from the sea, 
where he sits down solemnly in Turkish 
fashion, and apparently enjoys his bath 
very much, every retreating wave leaving 
him seated on the glistening beach, alone 
in his glory, and e^ery returning wave 
rushing around his shoulders, until one 


mischievous great wave, plunging on ahead 
of its fellows, maliciously surges over the 
crown of his head and flings him down, and 
leaves him grovelling on hands and knees, 
and rolling over and over in his haste to 
roll shorewards out of the way of the next 

" This was the noblest Roman of them 
all !" quotes Duke. 

Luli is covering her face with her hands, 
in convulsions of laughter and anxiety to 
screen her mirth fi'om its object, who, in 
his struggle to escape the devouring ele- 
ments, has rolled nearly to her feet. 

" Oh !" she says with a sigh of exhaus- 
tion from pure merriment, "how proud he 
was of his prowess when he went in !" 

" How are the mighty fallen !" adds 

VOL. I. O 


" I hope he isn't Enghsh !" observes Luli 
in some alarm, for they have been speak- 
ing in voices by no means lowered. 

" English !" replies Duke scornfully and 
patriotically- " An Englishman roll about 
in six inches of water like a porpoise, and 
catch convulsively at a Frenchman's hand 
to save himself !" 

" I shall not have any fat French hero to 
make me laugh to-morrow, nor any English 
patriot to laugh with me," she remarks 
half dolorously, half playfully. 

"And to-night no sunset ! and our place 
on the beach will know us no more ; and 
the waiter at the Casino will watch for the 
light of our countenances in vain !" 

They remain, chattering and laughing 
like two children, until heavy drops of rain 
begin to fall, and then start in a great 


hurry to return to Glencairn, in case Lull 
should be deemed to have encroached on 
the permission given her. 

The wind and the rain beat in their 
faces as they make their way in a slanting 
line along the beach ; the spray leaps after 
them in playful showers, as if to prove how^ 
far it can reach. The umbrella is hope- 
less; the frolicsome wind turns it inside 
out, and it has to be delegated to the use 
of a walking-stick. Lull's cloak fla^Ds to 
and fro, and tries to take unto itself wings. 
She has no hat, only her pretty white 
kerchief pinned securely to her head ; stray 
ends of golden hair are blown loose from 
under it and flutter like flickering sun- 
beams over her dark cloak. The fresh air 
and the dashing spray have given a bril- 
liant colour to her fair oval cheeks ; her 



eyes are sparkling, and a smile liovering 
round lier lips, as, clinging to Duke's arm, 
she picks her way with light dainty steps 
over the rough wet stones. Duke looks 
down and is struck by a new sense of her 
beauty. He never saw her look so pretty 

" We breast the wind and weather to- 
gether bravely, don't we?" he remarks. 
Then a sudden idea, a fancy rather than a 
definite thought, occurs to him ; and he 
looks at her more intently, and says 
dreamily and vaguely, 

"Who knows ?" 

He would probably under similar circum- 
stances have said the same to any pretty 
woman, and have forgotten it. But Luli at 
these words blushes to such a vivid and 
burning crimson, and such a startled, sur- 


prised, suddenly conscious look flushes over 
her face before she can avert it from his 
gaze, that he re eq embers long afterwards 
that beautiful startled blush and its simple 
and altogether insufficient cause. 

When he bids good-bj-e to the Glencairns 
that day (for his road lies to London and 
theirs to Brittany), it is to Glencairn he 
speaks, but at Luli he looks, as he says, 

" I shall see you in London, as soon as 
you return." 





" ^\'hat followed then? What has been done 
And said, and writ, and read and sung ? 
"\\'hat will be writ and read again, 
"While love is life and life remain ?" 

Joaquin Miller. 

FT is far ou in October when the Gleu- 
cairns return to London. They take 
up their residence again at the quiet home 
of the Misses Potter, where there are some 
little changes now, but not important ones. 
The busy spinster-sisters are growing 
greyer, and the brightness of Miss Chris- 
tiana's keen eyes is shaded by a pair of 
gold-rimmed spectacles. 


Two of the oldest of the Ancients of the 
select little circle are deceased, and their 
place is filled by a gentleman of compara- 
tively juvenile years ; he is only sixty, and 
gives very little trouble, because he 
habitually dines out, is not asthmatic nor 
rheumatic nor gouty, and is not in the 
habit of demanding midnight mustard- 
plasters and beef -tea, as has been the wont 
of his predecessors. Mrs. Boyd lives and 
thrives still, still sighs over sinners from 
the height of unfallen virtue, still regards 
Luli as the child for whom she used to 
dress dolls, wonders that " those foreign 
countries don't spoil the child," and still 
points to Glencairn as a " reformed charac- 
ter " — when Glencairn and his proud fond 
daughter are safely out of hearing. 

The maiden- sisters are glad to have the 


Glencairns back ; the presence of the Glen- 
cairns means good-humour and glad service 
of the servants, who see the gleam of 
bright half-sovereigns in prospect — means 
daintier dishes than are usual on the table 
freely ordered and liberally compensated 
for — means generous glasses of old port 
and dry sherry lavishly outpoured — means 
boxes for theatres, carriage drives, and 
concert-tickets — means also, far over and 
above all these, the bright influence of a 
young, fresh, frank-hearted girl they love. 
Glencairn does not object to abiding under 
the roof of the Misses Potter; he is not only 
free there, but master there; the habits and 
customs of the household, " according to 
his humour, ebb and flow !" and Luli would 
not be happy to be in London, and away 
from her dear aunts. 


The Cravens are in town, just returned 
from an Autumn trip to Brussels. Duke 
Mayburne is in town, not able yet to get 
away from London east winds to blue 
Italian skies. Naturally, as tlie Autumn 
days wear on, Duke becomes a frequent 
visitor at the Glencairns' ; and as between 
the Cravens and the Glencairns there is 
constant communion, the young artist 
drifts into a pleasant social intimacy with 
both families. 

Kate and Luli, only daughters and spoilt 
darlings both, are friends, not of the dearest 
and closest, but pleasant companions, who 
get on well together, and are perhaps more 
quietly and undemonstratively loyal to each 
other than some gushing bosom confidantes. 
Kate Craven has g-rown a bloominof-, livelv 
blonde, a trifle fast, without much depth or 


intensity, but warm-hearted, and without 
an atom of harm or malice in the whole of 
her honest, candid nature. She proclaims, 
with unblushing frankness, that " really, 
Duke Mayburne ought to be ticketed 
* Dangerous !' he is so awfully handsome 
that all the girls will go falling in love with 
him !" Duke flirts with Kate a little in an 
openly playful and meaningless way ; he 
does not flirt with Luli, but treats her in 
the tone of an old and admiring and privi- 
leged friend and adopted brother. 

In spite, however, of the supposed abso- 
lute fraternity of their friendship, it some- 
how does not please him to see Luli ap- 
parently absorbed (for really absorbed in 
anyone but himself she never is), in any 
other man's conversation. 

At a Christmas party at the Cravens', — 


where there are assembled a curiously mixed 
set of people, those who have been invited 
from choice, and those who have been in- 
vited from duty, or from old association — 
Duke feels unreasonably indignant with a 
young man who catches Luli and kisses 
her under the mistletoe. 

"Do you like this sort of thing?" he 
saj'-s to her aside, with a look of eloquent 
disgust at the object of his indignation, 
who is at this moment endeavouring to 
entice Kate Craven beneath the mystic 

" What sort of thing?" asks Luli, glanc- 
ing up half puzzled, and following his eye 
to see what it is that arouses his dis- 

" Those liberties to be taken by a little 
snob like that — a walking advertisement of 


bair-oiland cheap jewelry!" observes Duke, 
in reference to tlie Lothario, who was then 
imprinting a hurriedly-snatched salute on 
Kate's cheek, and who certainly had not 
stinted pomade upon his curly head, or 
rings upon his fingers, or studs upon his 

Luli laughed ; she had been a little un- 
comfortable and annoyed for the moment 
by the gentleman's demonstration ; but it 
would take a great deal more than a 
Christmas joke to make Luli Glencairn 

" It was tolerably cool of him certainly ; 
and I have only seen him twice in my life," 
she replied to Duke's observation. 

" I suppose you women like coolnesSj" 
he remarked, rather dissatisfiedly. 

''Not that kind of coolness," she answered 


more gravely; ''and as for that tiresome 
young man, I hate him ! Doesn't he re- 
mind you of the ' oiled and curled Assyrian 
bull ?' in Maud, you know ?" 

While this critical and confidential aside 
Tvas going on, the fun beneath the mistle- 
toe was waxing fast and furious ; the girls 
were uttering little shrieks ; the young men 
were flocking round. 

Mr. Craven appeared upon the scene of 
action, dragging with him a by no means 
reluctant victim — an old gentleman, whom 
Lull had noticed, and who, indeed, had 
attracted several people's attention during 
the evening by his "jolly" laugh, and a 
sort of simplicity and unworldliness of 
manner, combined with a gallant and com- 
plimentary tendency, and a devotion to the 
younger ladies, which he did not seem to 


suspect could be less welcome to them now 
than in the days of his youth. This old 
gentleman his host now brought under the 
mistletoe, and announcing, " Ladies, now's 
your chance !" left him plante la. 

The ancient conqueror — who was bald 
and yellow and wrinkled, and thoroughly 
unattractive, and thoroughly unconscious 
of his unattractiveness, — evidently nothing 
doul)ting of his reception, looked around 
smiling ; the girls all hung back ; some 

Luli feared the old gentleman's feelings 
would be hurt. It seemed to her that it 
must be humiliating for him to stand 
there, waiting in vain, the centre of all 
eyes ; and one girl's unconcealed giggle 
sounded sillily heartless and offensive. 
Luli could not bear to see any one humili- 

VOL. 1. p 


ated or sliglited. She stepped forward 
from lier place, and timidly and blashingly 
went to the old man's side and saluted the 
withered cheek. 

Duke looked at her with a new light of 

admiration. There was something in her 

impulsive movement so freshly girlish and 

innocent — her slight figure had flitted past 

so softly and lightly, and with such a shy, 

flower-like grace she had lifted her golden 

head to the old grey head, and then drooped 

back, and cast a timid, startled, fawn-like 

glance around, — that her loveliness struck 

the young artist suddenly like a revelation. 

His admiration was succeeded by a scowl 

as an eager aspirant after the mistletoe 

honours darted forward and caught her, 

still under the mistletoe, and brushed her 

cheek with his lips ; and a general laugh 


and scLifUc and scramble ensued, from 
which Luli returned blushing far redder, 
and looking far more discomposed than 

" It was too bad of them ; they knew I 
did not mean that," she said, half com- 

It was characteristic of Luli that she 
was talking to Duke Mayburne in her usual 
confiding, friendly way for a great part of 
the evening, but took the greatest care 
never, when he was by her side, to drift 
with him a step in the direction of the 
mistletoe, and rested in the most confident 
certainty that he would not endeavour to 
entrap her thither, or catch her unawares, 
as others had done. It is e([ually charac- 
teristic of her unconscious influence over 
k Duke, that he made no attempt to kiss 

r 2 


Lull, although, when she was out of the way 
in the adjoining room, he availed himself 
freely of the licence of the season in regard 
to other young ladies. This abstinence 
from the usual Christmas privilege — which, 
at a party where general imformality and 
freedom and " jollity " prevailed, Duke 
might so naturally and easily have claimed 
from Luli — did not promise well for the 
endurance of the fraternal character of 
their friendship. 

When a man, not generally over scru- 
pulous, avoids a harmless and ordinary and 
allowable familiarity with a woman, it is 
time for him to look to the safety of his 

The friendship between Duke and Luli 
— for friendship on his side it might even 
yet be called — had, however, no opportunity 


for any further developments that Winter, 
for Duke went away to Rome before the 
New Year was many days old. 

The Glencairns remained in England. 
The father taking a fancy into his head 
that the London "Winter did not agree with 
Luli, took her and Miss Priscilla down to 
the Isle of Wight, installed them there in 
comfortable apartments, and spent as much 
of his time with them as possible. He was 
obliged to be a good deal in London, be- 
cause at this time he occupied a post of 
some responsibility in a company which 
was then paying high dividends, and 
which possessed boundless hopes, limitless 
prospects and possibilities, and a limited 

Luli was rather dull sometimes, when 
she had been left some days alone with 


her aunt ; she had nothing to do but read 
and sketch and embroider, and talk of her 
father, and think of Duke Mayburne, and 
feel — what she would have thought it 
wickedly ungrateful to put into words even 
to herself — that there were diversions in 
life more pleasant than walking "by the 
sad sea waves " with Miss Priscilla. 

However, she was fond of her kind, soft- 
hearted aunt ; and her beloved father came 
down as often as he could ; and she had 
her artist friend over the sea to dream of, 
and exalt in- her " maiden meditation " into 
an ideal hero. So she was happy enough 
in a quiet way. Once Kate Craven came 
down to spend a week with Luli ; and Luli 
was glad to have Kate's bright, lively com- 

The rainy evening jDrevious to this 


arrival had seemed very dull and dreary to 
Luli, as she and her aunt sat one on each 
side of the fire, and one knitted and the other 
embroidered, and the sea moaned in the 
distance, and the rain pattered on the 
window-panes. The next evening was 
rainy and windy too ; but Kate Craven's 
ringing laugh, her bright blue eyes and 
blooming cheeks, her clear, high, merry 
voice, would have diffused a sunshine 
through the room, even had any more sun- 
shine than Glencairn's presence been need- 
ed there. His was not apparently a very 
enlivening presence, as he sat lounging 
back in his arm-chair, the reading-lamp 
drawn close to his elbow, his eyes bent on 
the newspaper in his hand ; but wherever 
he was was always home and comfort and 
peace to Luli, whose loving nature respond- 


ed to his tenderness with all the uplooking, 
trusting devotion of her loyal little heart. 

He was reading his paper ; the girls 
were chatting in a confidential, homely 
way ; Miss Priscilla was knitting, and 
occasionally putting in a word. 

" By-the-by, Kate," asked Luli, casually, 
^' what has become of that pretty little girl 
I met once, long ago, at your house — a 
little girl you had picked up at Brighton ? 
I recollect I took quite a fancy to her." 

" Little girl ? Brighton ?" repeated Kate, 
vaguely. " Oh, yes ! to be sure ! little 
Zora Brown. " Oh, I haven't seen her for 
more than a year ; she wrote to me when I 
was in Paris, and I stupidly lost her 
address. I really must look her up." 

" She was very pretty, if I remember," 
observed Luli. " How is she ? What is 
she doing ? An orphan, isn't she ?" 


" Yes, poor cliild ; some old relation of 
hers let lodgings at Brighton, and there I 
picked her up. I hope she is getting on 
well ; I don't want to lose sight of little 
Zora ; the last I heard from her she was 
studying music professional!}' — goi^g to 
teach singing or something, I suppose. 
She had an extremely sweet voice." 

" It must be very hard for a young girl 
all alone in the world to get on," remarked 
Luli, sympathetica^. 

" Yes," agreed Kate, with a half repent- 
ant little sigh, " poor Zora ! no money ! 
no parents ! scarcely any friends ! hard 
lines, isn't it ? I often wish I could have 
done more for Zora ; she was such a dar- 
ling girl. I do wish I'd helped her more, 
in some way or other." 

" Very often our good deeds stop at 


wishes. I can think of so many things I 
ought to have done and didn't do," said 
Miss Priscilla. 

"Not very many, I should think," ob- 
served Glencairn, putting down his paper, 
and answering Miss Priscilla's remark with 
a kindly smile. " And it is better so than 
to think of the bad things you have done,, 
and might have avoided doing. There are 
plenty of such in most men's lives ; and the 
worst of it is that they wouldn't avoid them 
if they could at the time ; and having eaten 
the fruit and tasted the ashes, they then 
cry out upon the tempter and revile the 

"Is it such a very bad world, papa ?" 
asked Luli thoughtfully. 

" Read and see !" he replied. " Here is a 
slight sample of the world of to-day, — and 


the world of to-morrow will probably be 
the same," he continued, skimming the 
columns of the paper and reading aloud — 
"Barbarous Assault" — " Tragic Death ot 
a Burglar "— " Wife-kicking "—" Horrible 
Murder" — Shocking Cruelty to a Dog " — 
" Attempted Fratricide." I don't know that 
it is such a bad world," he added medita-- 
tively, " but it is an inconsistent world. 
Human nature is inconsistent, root and 
branch ; and you cannot train it into con- 
sistency in either good or evil." 

" How do you mean ?" asked Kate. 

" Simply that no one living was ever all 
bad or all good. It is about the most im- 
portant truth in life, and generally the last 
truth that people — women especially — ever 
find out. Now look here, this murderer !" 
laying his hand upon the newspaper and 


alluding to a case they had previously 
spoken of at tea-time. "Do you suppose 
this man was what you call a thoroughly 
bad man throughout all his life ? Do you 
suppose he had not affections — that he had 
not innocent hopes — blameless pleasures — 
good impulses sometimes r He had borne 
an excellent character for kindness and 
general good conduct hitherto." 

" The black spot did not show ; but it 
was there," said Luli. 

" The black spot was there ; exactly so," 
agreed Glencairn. "That is the very 
point ! One evil trait marred the whole 
character; but the character was not all 
evil. Then there is that fellow in France 
who got off with ' extenuating circum- 
stances ' the other day. He was a ruffian 
certainly ; but I make no doubt he had 


some soft spot iQ his heart for some old 
mother or little child or faithful friend " 

" T do not believe he had any T saidLuli 
decisively. " That wretch, you know, 
Kate," she added explanatorily, " who 
murdered the old man and his wife for 
their money." 

"The brute! did he get off?" asked 

" Now you will observe," said Glencairn, 
" that Luli, who is habitually the gentlest 
and most charitable of creatures, has no 
mercy whatever for these men, whose 
crimes jar upon the whole tone of her 
nature, and whose temptations she never 
could comprehend. I believe that she, who 
doesn't even like to kill a wasp, would sign 
the warrant for their destruction body and 
soul without any hesitation." 


" I would have any amount of mercy on 
their souls,'' said Luli, " but no mercy on 
the life in them which they did not respect 
in others." 

Glencairn smiled, affectionately as re- 
garded Luli, but by no means assentingly 
to her proposition. 

" Too much weight is attached in 
general in this country to the mere act of 
destruction of human life," he observed. 
" We all must die. The soldier kills his 
enemy in battle. We have other enemies 
sometimes than our foes on the battle-field. 
There are injuries more cruel than death 
which may be inflicted with impunity. The 
mere act of taking life does not of itself 
constitute crime. We may do it under 
certain circumstances with a stainless con- 


" Goodness me, Mr. Glencairn !" exclaim- 
ed Kate, opening her bright bkie eyes 
wide. " And you talk as coolly as if 
you quite knew all about it too! — as if 
you had experienced how it feels to take 
human life, with or without a stainless 

"It is not such a marvellously uncom- 
mon experience in the kind of life I lived 
for many years," he replied quietly; "but 
such experiences are not for you to com- 
prehend. Don't imagine, Katie, that I have 
been recommending manslaughter as a new 
and fashionable diversion for noblemen 
and gentlemen," he added with his quietly 
amused and singularly sweet smile ; "I 
have merely been endeavouring to persuade 
you that there is generally a white spot in 
the blackest sheep." 


. ''Well, I will try to think so, papa," 
said Lull, nestling closer to his side with a 
pretty caressing gesture. 

" Your pater is awfully nice, Luli," ob- 
served Kate in freely confidential chat 
when the two girls were alone ; "he is all 
that's kind and charming, and yet, do you 
know, I should be tremendously afraid of 
offending him, if I'd much to do with him. 
Isn't he rather dreadful sometimes ?" 

" Papa dreadful ! Never," said Luli, 
quite amused at the idea. " He is as good 
as gold ! Sometimes he gets angry — into 
quiet rages, you know, with people who 
offend him, but he has really never spoken 
a cross word to me." 

" Never boxed your ears or anything ?" 
pursued Kate curiously. 

Luli laughed outright as she assured 


Kate tliat he had not adopted this course 
of education ; but Kate rejoined, 

"Well, he is a darling, 3'ou know; but 
he looks as if he wouldn't think much of 
beating anyone." 

" Kate, you are too absurd !" cried Luli 
through another burst of laughter. " Do you 
suppose he keeps a rod in pickle for me, 
or that I am kept on my good behaviour 
by fear of getting a black eye ?" 

When Kate returned to London, Luli, 
accustomed as she was to travelling and 
change, might have felt dull again, if it had 
not been for a talisman that arrived from 
over the sea — a letter with a Roman post- 
mark, addressed to Miss Glencairn, which 
her father brouo^ht down from London in 
his pocket one day, without suspecting 
that it was about the most precious present 

VOL. I. Q 


he could have brought her. It was from 
Duke Mayburne, of course ; it was only an 
ordinary letter written in the " old friend 
and brother" character, but in it he gave her 
a lively and detailed sketch of his life in 
E-ome, and said that " he should see her 
in May." On which promise Luli lived 
while the months of March and April wore 
slowly away. 

Early May saw the Glencairns back in 
London, and Miss Priscilla re-united to her 
sister, and the whole establishment assem- 
bled again in the old house near the 
E-egent's Park. Late May sees Luli watch- 
ing and waiting day after day for the one 
visitor whose voice in the hall she longs to 
hear, and leading in her secret heart a kind 
of Mariana in the Moated Grange existence. 
On the first of June there comes a ring 


at the bell, a well-kuowu step and voice, 
an opening and shutting of tlie drawing- 
room door, and a totally unnecessary 
announcement to Luli in the parlour, 
"Mr. Mayburne, if you please, Miss." 
Luli enters the room, looking rather 
pale, but very pretty, especially when a 
soft colour suffuses her face as Duke 
presses her hand, and her eyes droop 
beneath the glad, admiring smile with 
which he welcomes her. Miss Priscilla and 
old Mrs. Boyd are there ; Miss Priscilla 
takes great interest in hearing " all about " 
Rome ; and Mrs. Boyd inquu'es, in her 
mild, piping voice, if it isn't very uncom- 
fortable to be all among those dreadful 
priests, if many efforts are made to pervert 
the unwary tourists, and if there is any 
fear now of being walled-up alive in a 



monastery? Duke makes himself agreeable, 
as in duty bound, to the old ladies ; be 
does not talk much to Luli, and Luli is 
very silent, sitting quietly listening to bis 
voice in a state of passive bliss. 

Glencairn and Miss Christiana come in ; 
Duke is invited to stay to dinner, and 
does not refuse the invitation. Shortly 
before dinner the party break up gradually, 
and disappear one by one, on cares of toi- 
lette bent. Miss Christiana and Miss Pris- 
cilla don stiff black silk dresses, that could 
very well stand erect without their wearers ; 
old Mrs. Boyd adorns her scanty grey 
locks with a marvellous triumph of mil- 
linery, all lace and blue ribbons. But long 
before any of these toilettes are completed, 
Luli has hastened through her apparelling, 
and is down with Duke Mayburne in the 


"White is her favourite wear, and she 
knows Duke likes her in white ; so she has 
hurried on her freshest white muslin dress, 
and snooded her hair with delicate green 
ribbons, and tied her best emerald locket 
round her neck. She is so purely fair that 
the combination of green and white be- 
comes her well ; she looks like a lily in it 
— not a tall, stately garden lily, with its 
firm, carven marble petals, but a delicate, 
drooping, fair, and fragile lily of the valley. 
Duke, as a young man and an artist, is 
naturally far from insensible to her attrac- 
tion. He really doubts just at this mo- 
ment whether ever any olive-skinned 
southern beauty, with the warmth of Italian 
suns on her cheek, and the depths of Italian 
passion in her eyes, can equal this pure 
English lily. 


" Well, Luli, and how has everything 
been going on with you these five months ?" 
he inquires, comprehensively. 

" Just as usual. The Isle of "Wight was 
rather monotonous after a time, and I am 
glad to be back in London." 

" And there is no news ?" Then he 
adds, on an impulse, half lightly and half 
seriously, looking at her with more intent- 
ness, " Have you fallen in love with any 
fellow, Luli?" 

"No," replies Luli, frankly, blushing 

''No? I'm glad of that," he says, 
lowering his voice a little. 

Here Miss Priscilla enters, and Luli, 
with the histrionic talent that even the 
frankest and most guileless girls suddenly 
develop sometimes, greets her with a 


sweet smile, and looks remarkably placid 
and innocent, as tlie tell-tale blush fades 
slowly from lier cheek. 



"All thoughts, all passions, all delights — 
Whatever stirs this mortal frame — 
All are but ministers ofLove, 
And feed his sacred flame. 

" She listened with a flitting blush, 

With downcast eyes and modest grace, 
And she forgave me that I gazed 
Too fondly on her face. 

" I calmed her fears, and she was calm. 
And told her love with virgin pride : 
And so I won my Genevieve — 
My bright and beauteous bride !" 


rj^HE year wears on from golden June to 

mild and mellow September. All 

this Summer season — in London till the 


annual migTatiou sets in, and then in 
Cornwall, and then with closing September 
in London again — Duke Mayburne and 
Lnli Glencairn are never apart. 

At the opera or theatre his handsome 
curly head is seen between the acts bend- 
ing over the stall where Luli sits ; at even- 
ing parties they dance together, and recall 
in confidential half-whispers the peasants' 
" Ronde " in the Place de la Mairie, and 
laugh over Etretat memories together ; in 
mornings and afternoons Mr. Mayburne's 
quick double-knock at the door becomes 
familiar to the handmaiden who attends to 
the Glencairns' visitors. People begin to 
notice the young artist's attention to Miss 
Glencairn ; some say decidedly, " That's a 
case," and begin to wonder how much ho 
makes a year ; others observe explana- 


torily, '' They are very old friends, I be- 
lieve ; liave known each other from child- 
liood upwards." When it is discovered 
that Duke has taken a fortnight's trip 
down to Cornwall, of which county it is 
known that Luli and her father are explor- 
ing the beauties, the interest of all their 
>common friends deepens ; but by a rare 
chance of good fortune it happens for once 
that nobody interferes with premature 
congratulations or well-meaning leeble 
jocularity to 

" Shake in Spring the blossoms Autumn had seen fruit." 

So all this season Luli is happy, and her 
heart is lit up with the soft and tender 
golden light that breaks across the east 
before the sunrise. And all this season 
Duke is falling deeper and deeper into love 
with her. He has not fallen over the preci- 


pice head-over-ears down into tlie depths 
of love at once ; lie has slid almost un- 
consciously down a gradual incline, and 
awaked to the certainty that he loves Luli 
better than he has ever loved any human 
creature before — better than he can con- 
ceive the possibility of ever loving anybody 

His circumstances do not at present 
warrant his rushing into matrimony ; and 
he reviews his position with as practical 
and sensible an eye as can be expected from 
a man in love. He does not intend to 
make any declaration of his affection — at all 
events, not yet. He means to wait and 
work, and make no avowal. 

But one day, when September has fled, 
and taken with her the last of the Summer, 
and October is giving a foretaste of Winter 


before the mellow warmtli of tlie Indian 
Summer shall flood the land, Dnke May- 
burne's prudent intentions vanish into the 
air as many prudent intentions do — melt 
away as suddenly and completely as the 
witches from Macbeth's sight. 

It happens thus. Miss Christiana is out. 
Miss Priscilla is attending to old Mrs. 
Boyd, who is ailing, and is lying upon the 
sofa in the drawing-room. Duke and Luli 
are left alone in the parlour. They have 
been talking — wandering from one subject 
to another ; and now there has fallen a 

Luli is leaning one elbow lightly on the 
arm of her easy-chair, her hand supporting 
her head, and her fingers pushed into the 
wavy coils of her hair. A ray of the 
October sun gleams upon the frail white 


fingers and tlie rare golden hair ; her face 
is partly in shadow, in that soft half-light 
which lightens beauty and modifies plain- 
ness ; and her large dreamy eyes are up- 
turned to Duke in a gentle grave attention 
as if of listening, though he has finished 
the observations (on High Art, and the 
blindness of the English nation to its rules 
and requirements) which he had been 

Duke looks at her in silence for a few 
seconds, and then says impetuously, and 
quite irrelevantly to any subject that had 
been mentioned before, 

" I wish you would not look so lovely to- 
day !" 

" Why ?" she responds niiively. 

" Because it's dangerous — because if I 
look at you longer I shall be led on to 
say ■' 


" To say — what ?" she asks as he 
pauses, and asks it almost in a whisper. 

" To speak words that would be rash, 
mad, for me — a poor artist — to say to 

Lull does not shrink away or avert her 
eyes; and instead of blushing she grows 
paler, looks a little startled, and her breath 
comes shorter. Duke feels that he is not 
repulsed ; he stretches out his hand impul- 
sively and lays it upon hers ; the colour rises 
in his cheek, and his large grey eyes light 
up with a deeper glow than she has ever 
seen in them before, as they dwell upon her 
fair face in a gaze that it seems he can 
never tear away again. 

Now her eyes droop, and her lips quiver, 
and she bends shyly and half averts her 
face from him. He takes her other hand 


in bis, the hand that was nesthng in her 
hair; and as he grasps both her slender 
trembling little hands in his own strong 
ones, and she bends aside, and 

" Her head droops as when the lily lies 
O'ercharged ■with rain,'' 

there is a contrast between the self-assertion 
and power of his attitude and the almost 
humility of his voice ; he looks down on her 
like a king and pleads to her like a captive 
as he whispers tenderly, 

"Luli — darling ! dare I speak?" 
After all, there are very few words 
spoken ; but a few suffice. 

Half an hour has passed, and seems to 
them a nameless time, elastic enough to 
comprise a year, and brief enough to be 
counted as a moment. So little has been 
said — so much comprehended ! the future^ 


tlie vague future for wTiicli tliey have 
formed no plans, and of which they have 
scarcely yet said a word, is opening before 
them in a long and radiant vista of golden 

Duke's arm is round Lull's waist ; he is 
ruffling up the loosened tresses of hair, 
smoothing them off her temples ; he bends 
to kiss the sweet lips that yield so timidly 
and tremulously to the first caresses they 
have ever known, — when one of the folding 
doors leading into the dining-room swings 
open suddenly and quietly, and Glencairn 
appears upon the scene, and gazes amazed 
upon the pretty tableau vivant. 

Duke and Lull start ; Duke rises up from 
his chair, turning a shade paler than usual. 
Luli, all suffused in burning blushes, buries 
her face in her hands. Glencairn glances 


from one to tlio other keenly, his brows 
knitted into a frown that may either be of 
intentness, perplexity, or anger. 

"What does this mean?" he says 

" It means, Mr. Glencairn," Duke replies 
respectfully, but quite firmly, " that I love 
Luli, and that the temptation to tell her so 

was stronger than I could withstand." 

" Is that it ? And what has Luli to say 
in the matter ?" 

They cannot tell from Glencairn's 
manner whether anger or kindness is to 
follow his present cool composure. 

Luli has nothing to say but one word, 
" Papa?" pleadingly uttered in a low quiv- 
ering voice ; but she draws closer to Duke 
Mayburne's side, and looks from him to her 
father with soft appealing eyes. 

VOL. I. K 


" You liad better go upstairs, Luli, and 
leave Duke with me." 

She has never disobeyed a command of 
Glencairn's in her life, and does not now. 
She is almost too agitated to speak ; she 
leaves the room slowly and with lingering 
steps, looking back from the door, with 
expressive entreaty at her father, with 
longing trust and anxious tenderness at 
her lover. 

It seems to her that the time she waits alone 
in her room is a week — a month — a year ! 
She tries to read, but the words convey no 
meaning to her brain. She sits silent, wait- 
ing, watching, till the ticking of the clock 
seems to whirr in her brain. Time has never 
seemed so long to her before as this period 
that goes by with creeping minutes and lag- 
ging seconds, each second ticking away with 


sucli maddening steadiness, so much slower 
than the beating of her heart, until at last 
a tap at her door makes her start, and a 
servant enters. 

" Mr. Glencairn wishes to see you in the 
parlour, Miss, if you please." 

'' Is Mr. Mayburne gone ?" Luli inquires, 
with an attempt at nonchalance, turning 
away her head lest the girl should remark 
her chano^inor colour and flutterino^ breath. 

" Yes, Miss," the servant replies, regard- 
ing Miss Glencairn with interest and 
fellow-feeling, and perfectly au fait with 
the position of affairs. 

Half fearing, half hoping, Luli descends 
the stairs, and slowly pushes open the 
parlour-door, whilst, although she is not 
aware of it, an animated discussion is go- 
ing on in the kitchen and in the drawing- 



room concerning her prospects ; for the 
series of interviews between her, her lover, 
and her father, have been noted with much 
interest, and correctly interpreted, both 
above and below stairs. 

" Come in, child," says Glencairn, quiet- 
ly and tenderly, but without looking up. 

He is sitting in his usual arm-chair, 
and near his feet there is a foot-stool, the 
same foot-stool on which Luli used to sit 
in her childish days when first her father 
came back to her. By one of those gentle 
womanly instincts that are generally safe 
to adopt as guides, she goes softly up to 
him and takes her place at his feet, as she 
has so often done since that long ago time. 
Glencairn lays his hand on her head and 
smoothes her hair for a moment before he 


" Diiko is what the world calls, and 
justly calls, a 'bad match,'" he begins 
abruptly. " You know that, Luli ?" 

"I know that he has not much money," 
she replies, collecting her energies for the 
ordeal, and feeling stronger and calmer 
now it has fairly commenced. 

"Money, in the sense of a settled in- 
come or a safe capital, he has none. He 
may succeed, and make money; he may 
fail and drag on in poverty all his life. 
You are very young, Luli. Can you not 
put this fancy away as a dream — let Duke 
go his way, and go yours — and find 
another lover some day whom you will 
like as well, and who can provide for you 
in comfort?" 

*' Can I put this fancy away as a dream ?" 
she repeated ; then answered, with a charac- 


teristic quiet constancy and steadiness, 
" No, papa, I cannot." 

" Recollect how uncertain his future is ! 
Are you in earnest in wishing to encourage, 
and allow to grow into the passion of a 
life, a girlish romance that, if it is stamped 
out now, will leave no serious mark be- 

" It cannot be stamped out now,'' she 
said, softly, but steadfastly still. 

" Are you so fond of him, then ?" he re- 
joined, slowly, half wistfully. " Tell me, 
child, is this a romance, or is it love? 
Think well." 

She raised her eyes to his bravely and 
freely now. 

" Papa," she cried, impetuously, earnest- 
ly, solemnly, as if taking a vow to heaven, 
*' I Ja love him ! You must know I do !" 


As Glencairn looked at her, lie saw her 
mother in her now more vividly than ever 
he had seen her before. He saw the light 
of love on Lull's face transform it into 
Laura's very own. Surely those eyes, so 
full of purity and innocence and passionate 
tenderness, were Laura's eyes ; that look of 
childlike guilelessness and womanly earnest- 
ness — with the new depth and intensity 
which proved the brook between " woman- 
hood and childhood fleet," was crossed and 
left behind for ever — was Laura's very 

He gazed at Luli, and seemed almost to 
forget what they had been saying, or that 
they had been speaking at all. 

" You are like your mother — the day we 
stood on the deck — and caught the first 
sight of the English cliffs." he said brokenly, 
dreamily, as if talking to himself. 


This mention of lier mother cast a solemn 
shadow over the girl's fair young face. 
She knew that he had loved her mother 
first, on the voyage from the Cape to Eng- 
land, and that in his reverie now he had 
drifted back on board that vessel again. 
She looked at him in hushed faith and love 
and sympathy ; and a sacred silence lasted 
long unbroken between the two. 

At last, smoothing her golden head again, 
Glencairn spoke. 

" Child, have I ever thwarted a wish of 
yours ?" 

" Never, darling, never !" 
" And I will not now," he said slowly. 
" But listen, Luli, I lay down certain con- 
ditions. No thought of marriage yet. No 
binding covenant of engagement yet. You 
may see each other as often as you like, 


for a few montlis, as a kind of test and 
trial time ; then, if you really both hold 
faithfully to each other, be openly engaged; 
and when he proves to me that he can 
support a wife, marry — and not till then. 
"Will that arrangement satisfy you ?" 

"It is all I could desire !" she answered, 
gladly and gratefully ; for in the early stage 
of a pure and imaginative girl's love, 
"love is enough," and the present is 

" Have you told him he may come ?" 
she asked shyly, caressingly laying her 
cheek on Glencairn's hand. 

" Yes ; I have told him exactly what I 
have told you — and a little more. I told 
him, in order to avoid all possible misinter- 
pretation, that you have no fortune — not a 
penny even of pocket-money or dowry but 


what I please to give. I liave lost money 
lately; and unless the luck changes, I 
may not be able to give you a brass 

" Duke will not care for that," she said, 
softly and trustfully. 

"Money is a necessity," replied Glen- 
cairn. " Men must care for it. But I 
think you are right, Luli, in believing that 
Duke is not mercenary, and that money, 
simply as money, holds a very subordinate 
part in his scheme of life. I like Duke 
Mayburne," he continued, reflectively, as if 
weighing his words. " I liked him from 
the first — from the day that he brought you 
the white pup — do you remember, child? 
He has talent, energy, a kind heart, a singu- 
larly handsome face " 

Glencairn paused in his enumeration of 


this list of shining qualities, — whether be- 
cause he had arrived at the climax, or be- 
cause he was hesitating whether to add 
another quality or not, Liili was too happy 
and grateful to care. It was enough to 
lift her to the highest pinnacle of joy that 
her father spoke well of her lover. She 
cared no more to inquire on what he 
founded his good opinion than to analyse 
her own heart, and seek to discover why 
she had made this man its idol. He was 
not an unworthy idol, " taking him for all 
in all," although he did not possess the 
heroic qualities with which her transfiguring 
eyes invested him. 

Of course Duke makes his appearance 
the next morning, and Luli greets him in 
a beautiful rosy tremor of shy joy and 
tenderness. He has never seen her look 

252 CtLencairn. 

so lovely before ; her beauty is perfected 
now, as a woman's beauty never is until tbe 
one true light of life sheds around it the 
halo of that first fresh glory which, once 
illuminated, will never wholly fade. 

They build fair castles in the air ; it is 
the season for golden dreams. How bright 
and high those cloud-castles tower up on 
the horizon ! how real they look in the 
distance, save only for the fact that no 
such perfect harmony and beauty was ever 
realised ! Duke is naturally, however, a 
shade less supremely blest and delighted 
than Luli with the arrangement laid down 
by her father. 

" I may trust you, dearest, may I not?" 
he says (as if he required assurance !). 
" You will not let yourself be tempted 
away from me ? You promise that you 
will be mine ?" 


" Am I not yours now, Duke ? Shall I 
ever be yours more faithfully and truly 
than I am now ?" 

" You will be faithful, then ? Even if it 
should be for years ?" 

" All the years that I live I will be true 
to you !" 

"But I could not reproach you if you 
broke that vow," he says, half seriously, 
half jestingly. 

"Why not?" 

"Because you are a woman, darling," he 
replies, and smiles, and raises her hand to 
his lips and kisses it. 

" Don't be cynical," she says tenderly, 
and nestling trustfully to his side ; " that 
is a speech lago would have made !" 

" Well, wouldn't you rather that I should 
be lago than Othello ?" 


^'- No r replies Lull emphatically, with a 
fire kindling in her soft eyes. " Othello's 
was the crime of love, and Desdemona was 
the first to forgive him and plead for him 
in Heaven, I know I" 

" If she was like you, she was an angel," 
observes Duke, not too relevantly ; but 
some degree of irrelevance is to be pardon- 
ed to a lover looking down into the depths 
of such eyes as Luli raises to his. 

So, eyes to eyes, and lips to lips, and 
heart to heart, they forget the future and 
the past — forget the possibilities that 
crouch in ambush beside the path of the 
happiest lovers, the names of the cruellest 
of whom are Fickleness and Jealousy, and 
the name of the mildest is Death. 



" A fair and gentle creature, meant 

For heart, and hearth, and home content." 

L. E. L. 

" Shadows that shroud the To-morrow, 
Glists from the life that's within ; 
Traces of pain and of sorrow, 
And may be a trace of sin." 

Joaquin Miller. 

npHE Winter has come, and has ruled 
over the land until the term of his 
sovereignty is almost gone. Already the 
forces of Spring are mustering, and the 
coming monarch is making ready to 
advance to the possession of the throne. 
But the grim old king will not yield with- 
out a struggle ; and he is too potent still 


for the buds, timid heralds of the invader^ 
to dare to peep; only the hardy little 
crocuses have courage to defy him, and 
declare in the teeth of his biting icy 
winds that Spring shall come, is coming. 
Still Winter's pale banner floats across the 
grey snow-laden sky ; still Winter's breath 
traces fanciful hieroglyphics of his decrees 
on the window-panes in figures of frosted 

In a room on the fourth floor of a Lon- 
don house, which bears a placard of 
" Apartments " in its parlour window, a 
girl is sitting curled up on the hearthrug. 
The rug is a shabby one, so threadbare that 
little of its original pattern is distinguish- 
able ; but its presence could ill be dispensed 
with — the room being so sparely carpeted 
with narrow strips of faded Kidderminster 


that the ancient hearthrug forms a valuable 
contribution to the furniture. This fourth- 
floor back in Summer is reputed to be a 
charming, airy apartment ; but in Winter 
the -wind delights to whistle playfully 
through the chinks of the window and 
door, and down the chimney and in at the 
keyhole of the cupboard. It is decidedly 
a cold room at this season, and Zora 
Brown's present occupation is poking sticks 
of firewood and bits of paper into the 
grate, to rekindle the handful of smoulder- 
ing coals. She does not commit the ex- 
travagance of a fire every day and all day 
long ; but this afternoon is very chilly, and 
she wants to coax the obstinate embers 
into a cheerful blaze, by which she will 
first prepare, and then partake of her soli- 
tary cup of tea. 

VOL. I. s 


Zora Brown, who was a child when Lull 
Glencairn met her at the birthday party, and 
wondered who and what she was, is a woman 
now — a pretty, graceful young woman, who 
picks up the sticks of charred firewood 
with dainty fingers, and who has all the 
nameless and indescribable refinements of 
a gently-bred lady in her air and attitude, 
and every turn of her hand and bend of her 
head, even now while engaged in the un- 
romantic task of lighting a fire. 

She has on a blue serge dress, which 
has seen so much wear that only much 
careful darning holds it together in some 
places ; and the muslin frills at her neck 
and wrists are not so fresh as they pro- 
bably were a day or two ago. Zora is 
neat and trim, and as careful of her meagre 
toilette as she can be ; but she is not one of 


tliose wlio hold tliat no ribbon at all is better 
than a faded ribbon. She likes things 
bright and new and fresh — when she can 
afford them ; but if she cannot get fresh 
ribbons, she regards a faded breast-knot as 
a very great deal better than none. Yet 
there is no suggestion of tawdry, faded 
finery about her ; rather, she has the gift 
of wearing her well-worn dress and faded 
ribbon and crumpled frills, so that, instead 
of their making her look shabby, she 
makes them look presentable. 

There is a sound of footsteps and a 
rustling of skirts upon the stairs, but as 
Zora does not expect any visitors, and the 
wood is just beginning to burn beautifully, 
she takes no notice, till somebody plays a 
tattoo on the door, and calls, " Zora !" 

" Come in. Who is there ?" 



Zora turns from her task with surprise 
and interest ; but she has not time to rise 
up from her humble position before Kate 
Craven bursts into the room with her 
habitual vivacity, albeit she appears pant- 
ing and breathless. 

" Zora, my dear child, how are you ? Oh, 
those stairs ! Good gracious ! what are 
you doing there? Oh, what a height to 
live at ! I am quite out of breath ! "Why 
don't you have a lift? Seven flights of 
stairs, I declare it is !" 

" Only four," observes Zora, smiling, and 
looking really pleased to see her visitor, as 
she returns Kate's osculatory greeting. 

*' Well now, my dear girl, what has be- 
come of you all this time ? I thought I 
would come and see you instead of writ- 
ing ; so here I am. Isn't it an age since 


^e have met ? Why do you live up in this 
sky-parlour ? What are you doing now ?" 
says Kate, pouring forth remarks and ques- 
tions all in a breath. 

" I live here principally because it's eco- 
nomical," Zora replies. " If you will ex- 
cuse me, I will put another stick into this 
obstinate fire. Draw your chair close, so 
as to get all the little warmth there is. It 
has been in such a sulky temper I cannot 
make it burn." 

The two girls are a great contrast in 
appearance ; Kate Craven in her sweeping 
silk dress, her velvet hat and feather, her 
sealskin mantle with its deep fur trim- 
ming ; and Zora Brown in her poor little 
darned serge frock ; but Zora Brown be- 
trays no embarrassed consciousness ; and 
her manner to her guest, sweet and gentle 


as it is, is delightfully free from subservi- 
ency, and equally far from the awkward- 
ness of assuming and claiming an equality 
on which there is any doubt. Zora's man- 
ner never asserts the doctrine of " Liberty, 
Equality, and Fraternity," but simply ^rove^ 
it — proves it by a softness, a delicacy, a 
refinement of look and accent of which no 
lady in the land need have been ashamed. 

" Well, and now tell me all about your- 
self, Zora," says Kate, when the sulky fire 
is beginning to smile, and Zora has risen 
and taken her seat beside her visitor. 
" As for my adventures," Kate continues, 
lounging back in her chair, " they are soon 
told. Two Winters in Paris — one in 
Brussels, — I wrote to you from Brussels, 
by-the-by. Every season in London all the 
season long. Lots of society ; lots of fun ; 


lots of flirtatioD. I have grown an awful 
flirt, they tell me; but I don't believe it 
myself. Anyhow I find life a very jolly 
thing ! How do you find it ?" 

"Not so jolly as you do certainly," re- 
sponds Zora, with a rather pensive smile. 
" The world has not gone very well with 
me ; but I ought not to complain, for it 
might have done much worse." 

" Have you not got any money ? How 
do you make your living?" asks Kate, 
frankly inquisitive. 

" Just now I give a few lessons to little 
children, by which I provide myself with 
bread, and cold mutton, and occasional 
cups of tea." 

" Why don't you get a governess's place 
in a nice family ?" 

"It is easier said than done. First and 


foremost, I am not well-educated enough. 
I could take no place beyond giving wliat 
they call rudimentary instruction to little 

" Upon my word, I don't think I could 
even do that ! Teaching must be a horrid 
bore !" exclaims Kate. " Why don't you 
advertise for a companion's place ?" 

" I did. I tried that twice ; but " 

Zora hesitated thoughtfully, " it didn't do. 
And then I once gave some sittings to an 
artist; and that didn't do either." She 
coloured a little, and continued rather hur- 
riedly, " And oh ! Kate, my one good chance 
in life I lost ! I have not done regretting 
that yet ! I told you once, I think, that 
I was studying singing. "Well, I was to 
come out in an English operetta. It was 
only a beginning ; but it would have been 

GLEXOAIR^f. 265 

a good beginning. And so 1 made my 
dehut ; and I sang for nearly a week ; and 
I was full of hope. And tlien I had inflam- 
mation of the lungs, and lost my voice ; 
and the doctor told me I must not sing 
even if I got my voice back. And I tried 
to sing again, and broke a bloodvessel and 
nearly killed myself. So you see my one 
good chance is gone." 

"Oh, poor child! that luas hard upon 
you!" observed Kate sympathetically. 
" But you'll get a better chance yet, Zora 
dear, in some other line. Singing isn't the 
only career in the world. And then very 
likely you'll marry ; you are sure to marry ; 
I wonder you haven't married yet !" 

" It does not do to trust to that chance," 
said Zora softly, but practically. 

" What languages can you speak ?" asked 


Kate, as if inspired by a sudden thought. 

" Only a little French." 

" Not Italian ?" 

"No; I wish I could! I am sure I 
should love Italian. I taught myself just 
enough to pronounce my Italian songs — 
but that is all." 

" Ah, not Italian ; that is a pity. I was 
thinking," said Kate slowly — " but no — ah ! 
well, I'm afraid not. "Well, now anyhow, 
Zora, we must see if we can't get you some 
recommendations or something. You must 
advertise again. I'm sure that's the right 
thing. And now, dear, I must go. Good- 
bye. No, no tea, thank you ; not a drop. 
And, Zora, you must come and see me, 
mind; we must not let each other drift 

Kate imprinted a hearty, kindly kiss on 


Zora's cheek, and departed, her silken 
skirts rustling down the staircase, and 
catching on an obtrusive nail, which drew 
an aggrieved exclamation of " Oh dear ! 
what a dreadful place !" from the wearer. 

Zora sits alone, gazmg into the red 
embers and letting her tea get cold, saying 
to herself with a sigh, " "What a contrast !" 
and with a smile, " I am glad to have seen 
her. It was good of her to come." 

On this afternoon too, beside another 
fire, another girl is sitting, not alone, and 
with no need to resort to the red coals for 
an object to gaze at and dream over. Liili 
Glencairn is leaning back in a low easy- 
chair, peaceful and graceful and happy, the 
pure daylight resting on one pale oval 
cheek and curving coil of fair hair, the red 
gleam of the firelight flickering on the 


other side of her face and touching the 
soft cheek nearest it with an unnaturally 
bright glow. She is slowly smoothing the 
fur of j a large tabby cat that lies 'curled 
into a cushion in her lap and purring 
lazily in its slumber. The girl and the cat 
look together like a picture of home happi- 
ness, each equally and supremely comfort- 
able and content, — except indeed that Luli, 
with those dreamy spiritual eyes of hers, 
can never look utterly absorbed in any 
purely sensuous pleasure of luxury and 
•ease; and even in her happiest moments, her 
soul, when her eyes glance upward, seems 
always to be looking beyond, away into a 
land of dreams. 

On the other side of the hearth sits 
Glencairn, in his usual characteristically 
careless lounging attitude; he scarcely 


looks above a year or two older than wlieu 
nearly a dozen years ago lie returned to his 
unknown little daughter ; his dark waves of 
hair are but slightly threaded with silver ; 
and his odd piercing sombre eyes are at 
peace. By the mantelpiece stands Duke 
Mayburne, carelessly picturesque as ever 
in his velvet coat and loose necktie, hand- 
some as ever, with his rich curling chestnut 
hair and beard, his splendid grey eyes well- 
set under the broad white brow, and his 
profile like that of the "Wounded Gladia- 
tor" — a resemblance Luli had discovered 
at her last visit to the Crystal Palace, and 
which, considering the discoverer was in 
love with Duke, was far less flattering to 
him and more accurately truthful than 
might have been expected. 

They have been discussing literature and 


the drama, Shakespeare in general, " Mac- 
beth" in particular; and from Macbeth 
and the Weird Sisters, Glencairn gives 
the conversation a fresh turn. 

" Macbeth simply acted out his destiny," 
he observes, positively. ^'He was irre- 
sponsible from the first. Only by an irony 
of Fate some deceptive glimpses of the 
future were shown to him. He could not 
turn aside from the path he was bound to 
tread ; only a will-o'-the-wisp was set danc- 
ing before him to throw false lights on the 
quagmire wherein he was fated to be 
swallowed up. Fate does play such pranks 
with us sometimes. I cannot see the good 
of them," he continued, meditatively. 
■" They cannot help us to avoid an evil ; 
and, as a rule, the foreshadowing of the 
future is worse than useless." 


" Do you believe in supernatural mani- 
festations, then?" asked Duke. 

" There is nothing that to my mind is 
supernatural," Glencairn replied. "There 
are powers that know the future. Under 
certain circumstances, they can communi- 
cate their knowledge." 

" The premise that there are powers that 
know the future assumes that the future is 
pre-ordained, so that what they foresee is 
inevitable ?" 

" That is so," Glencairn said quietly ; 
" and in that consists the irony of some of 
those strange warnings which we seldom 
understand, and by which we cannot 

" That is pure fatalism, is it not ?" asked 
Luli, thoughtfully. 

" Yes," he answered ; " we all must dree 
our weird." 


" There are some prophecies," observed 
Duke, practically, "that do not need the 
doctrine of spiritual or unearthly know- 
ledge to account for them — forecasts that 
may with tolerable safety be ventured upon 
by reasonable calculation ; for coming events 
do sometimes * cast their shadows before * 

" There are some such prophecies as 
you speak of," admitted Glencairn ; " and 
there are others that no reasonable calcu- 
lations can possibly explain. How would 
you account for a man's double walking 
before his death? — or for the Banshee's 
cry foretelling trouble ?" 

" Are such things well authenticated ?" 
inquired Duke. 

" Who can doubt the mass of testimony 
towards them? A friend of my own, a 


young Irish fellow of Kildare county, has 
heard the Banshee twice, and it was each 
time followed by a death. You have heard 
me speak of M'Gregor ? McGregor's father 
saw his wraith walk in the garden the 
day he was seized with his last illness. 
Do you not know that your favourite poet, 
Shelley, in the last month of his life, saw 
a cloaked figure, which disclosed his own 
face to him, and vanished ?" 

Duke looked somewhat incredulous, and 
remarked that " Shelley was a visionary 
and a dreamer." 

" But what is the use of these appari- 
tions ?" pondered Luli. 

" Unless it be to warn a fellow to make 
his will and prepare his last requests," 
suggested Duke. 

" In the case of a man burdened with the 

VOL. I. T 


secret of any crime, it might be well that 
he should know his last hour was near, 
that he might secure the peace of his soul 
beyond the grave," said Glencairn. "But 
I acknowledge such cases are rare. As a 
rule, there is in these forecasts no such 
clear motive as to warn a sinful man to 
free his soul from its secrets. I don't 
understand it — it is beyond me." 

" It is beyond us all," said Duke, respect- 
fully forbearing to attack Glencairn's evi- 
dently unconquerable superstition. 

" Such appearances, if they are clearty 
proven as occurring before the events they 
foreshadow," said Luli, reflectively, " seem 
to serve only one purpose — that of proving 
that things are predestined." 

" Which I think, for the good of the 
world in general, might as well be left un- 
proven," observed Duke. 


"Meaning tliat tlie doctrine of pre- 
destination is too strong meat for the souls 
of the million ?" said Glencairn. " Well, 
perhaps you are right there, Duke." 

" The million, you see," rejoined Duke, 
"would be too apt to stop at the comfort- 
ing theory that all the crimes they commit 
are predestined, and would not advance 
the next step to the perception that their 
punishments, in some world or another, 
are probably predestined too." 

" Hard on the million that !" observed 
Glencairn smiling ; " and pretty hard on us 
all. Hard on Judas Iscariot that his 
name should be a mark for obloquy for 
centuries on account of a crime which he 
had been for centuries destined to commit." 

Here the door opened ; " Miss Craven " 
was announced, and Kate, who had come 


276 GLEN C 'HEN. 

on from her afternoon visit to Zora to dine 
and spend the evening with the Glencairns^ 
made her appearance. 

" My dear Katie, you are come just in 
time to rescue us from fathomless depths 
wherein we were getting lost," said Luli, 
as the two girls exchanged an affectionate 

"Depths of heterodoxy from which we 
will extricate ourselves forthwith," added 

"Ghosts, wraiths, and Banshees, Miss 
Craven," said Duke in a deep and sepulchral 

" my gracious ! And in this twilight 
room !" cried Kate. " For goodness' sake 
light the gas !" 





" Love well who will ; love wise who can ; 
But love ; be loved ; for God is Love. 
Let love be ripe in ruddy prime, 
Let hope beat bigh, let hearts be true ; 
And you be wise thereat ; and you 
Drink deep, and ask not any more !" 

JoAQum Miller. 

npHE Spring lias budded, bloomed, and 
faded, and Summer fruit is ripe. In 
tlie country, beyond the dust, and smoke, 
and heat of the great city, all is peace, and 
melody, and beauty now. Looking on the 
billowy sea of chimney-pots, the intermin- 
able Sahara of dry and dusty tiles, it makes 
one thirsty, as if for a cooling beverage in 


fever, to think liow, only a few miles 

" Over waving ways 
Of deep green grass the gusty winds did bring 
Soft subtle scents of sweet flowers blossoming 
With sound of wild birds singing face to face." 

But in London a general yearning for tlie 
country does not seem to prevail, for the 
fact that the season is at its height, and 
that London is full to overflowing, is 
brought before you prominently at every 
hour of the day and night. In the morn- 
ing and after the noon, the Row and the 
Ring are crowded, and the upper ten 
thousand, in sober broughams, in dashing 
barouches, in low victorias, in lofty four- 
in-hands, on " black horses and white, red 
horses and grey," parade themselves before 
the eyes of the million. The million lean 
over the railings, and gaze, and criticise, 


and envy, and admire, as the always hand- 
some horses, and the sometimes beautiful 
riders — for you get the best of equine 
oftener than the best of human beauty in 
this exhibition — pass by in the unending 

At night, walk through the West-end 
streets and squares ! Here, there, and 
there again, red cloth is laid across the 
pavement, striped awnings flutter in the 
evening breeze, and strains of music float 
out from the open windows. Here car- 
riages are setting down for a ball ; there 
taking up from a dinner-party ; here, there, 
and everywhere small audiences are con- 
gregated on the pavement to enjoy the 
entertainment provided gratuitously by 
the London wealthy for the London poor. 
Visions of beauty — visions of wealth — 


Worth's latest creations in dress— diamonds 
that are family heirlooms — flash by like 
shows in a magic lantern, under the eyes 
of the little street- Arab, the working-man 
and the working woman ; and so, to high 
and low, to the drone and the busy bee of 
the London world, the London season 
brings its excitement, its pleasure, its 
weariness of body and of soul. 

By this season of course Duke Mayburne 
and Luli Glencairn are openly acknow- 
ledged to be "engaged," though the 
acknowledgment has not been made 
suddenly or all at once ; indeed it would 
have puzzled both of these young people 
to have fixed the day on which their under- 
standing became a ratified engagement, 
although they had of course considered 
themselves betrothed, and had been mutu- 


ally pledged to eternal constancy from the 
day on wliicli Duke first spoke of his love 
to Luli. The publicity had come gradually ; 
people had "chaffed" them more and 
more, and they had avoided the chaff less 
and less, and confided in one friend after 
another ; and Glencairn had looked on 
tranquilly, and interposed no objection, 
but, according to one of his favourite 
theories, had "let things drift." So things 
had drifted, until this season Duke and Luli 
were openly affianced in the eyes of the 
world ; and although they had not yet 
fixed any time for their marriage, the}^ 
were full of hopes and dreams and schemes 
for their united life; and the cloud-castles 
towered higher, fairer, brighter than ever. 
Luli was as happy as the Summer days 
were long ; the sunshine of her smile lit up- 


all the household, and it was almost pathetic 
to see how her happiness was reflected in 
the look of smiling content on old Miss 
Priscilla's faded, time-worn face. Even 
stern Miss Christiana relented into tender- 
ness when Luli's blue, soft eyes, all spark- 
ling with joy, looked into hers as if sure of 
sympathy : and Mrs. Boyd smiled, although 
she could not forbear a simultaneous sigh, 
as Luli's glad voice carolled bird-like 
snatches of song while she went about the 
house, light of foot and light of heart. As 
for Glencairn, he was a man of but one 
love, one aim. His daughter made all the 
music, all the sunshine, all the holiday of 
his life. 

After all, in spite of the often and loudly 
asserted selfishness of human nature, it is 
chiefly in sympathy with the young, and in 


watching what seems the resurrection of 
their own 3'outh, that the old live again. 
It is by entering into the spirit of the life 
of youth that is in the full flush and flow 
of living, that they who have lived their 
lives exist. 

People, however, in this world, old or 
young, can seldom sympathise without 
volunteering advice as to the conducting 
of the circumstances which inspire their 
sympathy. Lessons innumerable concern- 
ins: the management of a husband and a 
household are offered gratuitously to the 
jo\mg fiancee. Golden maxims are shower- 
ed upon her ; minute and accurate plans of 
life are drawn up for her benefit. If Luli 
followed all, or even half, the advice that is 
given her by the elders of her own sex as to 
the "management" of Duke in the coming 


days, the path would be more likely than 
not to conduct the young couple by no 
very circuitous route into the Divorce 
Court ! As regards the management of 
income and expenses, the advice, though 
each separate piece of it sounds sensible 
enough, when fitted together forms a sujffi- 
ciently puzzling whole. 

" Ah ! don't waste your money, my dear, 
on that ridiculous notion of honeymooning. 
Of all the rubbish, I think it is the ab- 
surdest convention for a young new-married 
couple to fly into exile as if they had done 
something wrong, and were banished from 
their native land ! When Jones and I 
were married, we went straight from the 
altar home to our little cottage at Hamp- 
stead. And do you do the same, my dear!" 
one matron would say. 


" I hope you will take a good long liappy 
honeymoon trip, my dear. When you come 
back and begin housekeeping, ah ! then 
you'll find your troubles begin !" another 
would prophesy. 

" You will take a small house, of course ? 
I should advise you to look out Kensington 
way; and be careful not to allow more 
than a sixth of your income for rent. 
Statistics prove," &c. " Statistics " always 
was the beginning of a long and instructive 

'* You won't commit the extravagance of 
a house, of course ? A young couple can 
live so delightfully in genteel furnished 
apartments," would be the next adviser's 

" Really," observes Luli confidentially to 
Duke one day, ** I feel like a target for 


everybody to fire advice at ! Mrs. Groves 
lias been here to-day, and without making 
the slightest inquiry as to our plans and 
projects, proposed to go and negotiate for 
us for a suite of rooms on the seventh floor 
of the Langham Hotel. She said it would 
be so delightful for you to have a smoking 
and billiard-room on the premises. I had 
some difficulty in persuading her that her 
plan was rather premature, as we had not 
begun to form our own schemes yet." 

"I wonder why it is that people are 
always as ready with their advice when it's 
not wanted, as they are chary of their help 
when one has any need of it," pondered 

" Perhaps it is because it would be so 
delightful to their feelings to be able to 
say, ' That young couple owe all their 


happiness to my judicious counsel!'" sug- 
gested Luli. *' And on the other side, 
don't you think, Duke, it might be rather 
satisfactory for us to be able to say, in case 
of any failure, that the responsibility rests 
with our advisers ?" 

" I think I'd rather succeed or fail on my 
own hook," he said. 

"But / had rather, if anything went 
wrong, that you should find fault with any- 
body else than with me," she rejoined. 

" Find fault with you, my pet ! "What 
am I likely to have to find fault with my 
little darling about?" 

" That unpleasant discovery has yet to 
be made — and oh ! what an unpleasant dis- 
covery it will be !" she added with a 
very sincere sigh at the dolorous prospect. 

VOL. I. tr 


" Duke, I wonder if I ever could be angry 
witli you ?" 

" Don't let us try the experiment, dearest 
— in case you should find you could !" he 
answered, smiling, and fondly caressing her 
bright waving hair, that always got pictur- 
esquely ruffled during their interviews, 
and required considerable smoothing and 
combing after his departure before it could 
be made presentable. 

" One thing is satisfactory," observed 
Luli, as she lifted up his wrist for inspec- 
tion, " you wear studs ! So many buttons 
the less — so many chances of quarrel the 
less ! This is what I am informed, at 
least. Buttons and dinners ! — those are 
the two critical points." 

"You shan't be troubled much as to 
buttons, pet ; and as to dinners — well, I'll 


promise not to tlirow the disli-covers at 
yon, not indeed to throw anything larger 
than a salt-cellar. "Will that content you ?" 

" I don't see why there should be any 
need of even so harmless a missile as a 
salt-cellar," she responded cheerfully as a 
re-assuring reflection occurred to her. " I 
shall have plenty of time to study your 
tastes at table-d-hote dinners before we set 
up domestic meals — although to be sure 
foreign hotels will scarcely be a fair test, 
as you will have to control any inclination 
for showing dissatisfaction by flinging 
about the table furniture." 

' ' Did I ever show you what a long bill they 
sent me in at Etretat for the decanters 
and dishes and goblets I had destroyed in my 
righteous anger at their confoundedly bad 
dinners ?" he inquired gravely. 



"And, whew ! Lull, do you know what 
o'clock it is ?" he added presently, holding 
out his watch. 

" Is it so late ?" she said with unaffected 

" The time always flies so with us," he 
observed somewhat complainingly. " Never 
mind ! it will bring next Summer the soon- 
er, won't it, darling?" He smiled as he 
spoke of next Summer ; for it was then 
that they hoped, if things went well 
with Duke in a worldly sense, to try 
the dangerous experiment of domesticity, 
and then those " buttons and dinners " 
would become serious realities. 

'' Shall I see you to-morrow ?" asked 
Luli, looking down with the soft coy shy- 
ness that was the nearest approach to 
coquetry she knew. 


" Not to-morrow, dear. I am so liard 
at work just now. I had to be up at five 
this morning to get that double-page sup- 
plement of the Guildhall reception off in 
time ; and I shall have to sit up half to- 
night, for there's the block waiting for 
Conrad and Medora without a line drawn 
on it yet !" 

'•On Wednesday then?" 

" Well, there's the Sociable Club dinner 
on Wednesday ! it wouldn't do for me to 
miss that, you know. But on Thursday at 
the garden-party we shall meet and have a 
jolly day. Look out for me at the station 
before starting. And make yourself look 
your prettiest, darling, for I want all my 
friends to envy me. I think they do that al- 
ready pretty well!" he added with a self-satis- 
fied air and a smile of proud proprietorship. 


Duke was one of the class of men who 
like their choice to be admired, who wish 
to see the seal of the world's approval set 
upon their taste, who, far from being jeal- 
ous of other men's appreciation of the 
charms of their beloved, would rather like 
than dislike to see the pathway of her con- 
quering car strown with victims — it being 
well understood that they must be hopeless 
victims, on whom she must not waste her 
tears, or even lavish her smiles. Luli was 
nothing of a coquette ; but she was woman 
enough to take a naive and simple pleasure 
in her beauty for his sake ; and he being 
as proud of her as he was fond, the admir- 
ation which her pure Saxon blonde loveli- 
ness attracted was equally gratifying to his 
vanity and his love. 

On the day of the garden-party accord- 


ingly, Lull was arrayed in her best and 
looking her loveliest, dressed all in white, 
as he liked her to be, floating, cloudy, 
filmy white, with touches of tender blue 
gleaming through the transparent gauze, 
and a graceful head-dress that professed to 
be a bonnet — consisting of two white fea- 
thers, a bunch of forget-me-nots and a 
tulle streamer, — nestling among the fair 
braided masses of her hair. 

The meeting-place appointed for all the 
London guests is the railway-station, 
where a special set of saloon carriages are 
attached to the tail of an ordinary train for 
their benefit, to bear them in sociable 
comfort to their destination. The guests 
are mustering accordingly. From City 
and suburb, from the aristocratic west, 
from the modest north and south, and from 


the despised east — "the cry is still they 

The party is a mixed one ; it has become 
an annual affair — one of the yearly off- 
spring of an alliance between Art and 
Commerce. The host and the large circle 
of his old friends and colleagues represent 
commerce; the hostess and the larger 
circle of their later friends represent art. 
Oil and grocery made the money ; art helps 
to spend it. Trade made the master of 
Holmswood Hall ; and now the master of 
Holmswood Hall helps art to thrive ; and 
into the treasury of art, gold pours from 
the coffers which trade filled. Many a young 
artist will look back gratefully to the 
hand, a hard-working, honest, kindly hand, 
that signed his first cheque, and proved 
truly a helping hand to steady him up the 


first step of the ladder. Many a great 
painter's chef-d'oeuvre, and many a pro- 
mising Tvork of rising genius, adorn the 
walls of the handsome country-house — 
(a "Mansion suitable for the Occupation of 
a Nobleman or Gentleman " had been the 
terms set forth in the advertisement which 
tempted its present tenant to negotiation) 
— whither now the special train, unless 
goods-vans or coal-trucks should come into 
collision with it on the way, will whirl the 
attendant guests. 

So here are the party assembling in 
battalions on the platform and in the 
waiting-room. Here are the artists, and 
the artists' wives and daughters, some 
dressed in the fashion, some out of it, not 
so slightly out of it as to be despised, but 
so daringly out of it as to be admired, some 


attired simply and gravely as nuns, others 
in ricli and rare and perfect harmo- 
nies of colour that are a rest to the eye to 
look upon. And here is dear Mrs. Craven 
in a vivid emerald silk, with a bird of para- 
dise in her bonnet ; and next her the wife 
of a millionaire in a crude scarlet satin that 
would set one's teeth on edge to look at it if 
she had not in charity veiled a great 
portion of it in falls of heavy black lace. 
This costume is crowned by a miraculous 
erection of white blonde and white flowers, 
concerning which Duke whispers to Luli, 

" If I look at her any longer, I shall be 
compelled to snatch it off! so take me 
away on to the platform, out of the way of 

Luli is too glad of the opportunity of 
getting out of the crowded group in the 


waiting-room, and pacing up and down the 
platform with her beloved. On the plat- 
form other members of the party are 
wandering about in twos and threes,, 
awaiting the departure of their train, with 
a languor that contrasts with the alertness 
and the bustle of the travellers proper who 
are bound for the Continent by another 
train just about to start. Porters dash 
briskly along with trucks of luggage, their 
movements seeming expressly designed to 
amputate the toes of the unwary. The 
garden-party people mostly undulate 
quietly in their tranquil promenade to let 
these instruments of danger pass ; but some 
of them get absorbed in conversation 
and have to steer clear at the last moment 
with a start and a jump, and — if masculine 
— a growl. The travellers proper rusli 


frantically about and are perpetually trying 
to cross the path of the porters and having 
to dodge and turn and retreat. The 
garden-party people look half enviously at 
the travellers who are bound from sultry 
London for the cooling balm of the sea- 
breezes and the fresh delight of the sea- 
waves. Those big portmanteaux with the 
many defaced labels, those travelling- valises 
tied up with a bundle of rugs and um- 
brellas and Alpenstocks, are tantalizing to 
look upon ; they rouse a burning thrill of 
the migratory fever that begins to stir in 
all London veins as the season waxes to its 

The travellers in their turn regard the 
garden-party, some with envy, and some 
with lofty pity. The garden-party are not 
going abroad ; true — but then they have 


no luggage to look after, and no Channel 
crossing before tliem. And then, too, 
while the female travellers proper are clad 
in suits of dust-coloured home-spuns and 
sober checks and modest browns and greys, 
the ladies of the garden fete look so fresh 
and radiant in their snowy muslins and 
rainbow-tinted silks ! 

"Now, Duke," begins Luli, eagerly, as 
they emerge on to the platform, " I have 
something very particular to say to you." 

" All right, dear ; I'm all attention. Is 
it to propose that we should elope ? Is 
that heap of luggage yours ? — and am I to 
take the tickets ?" 

" Not yet, please ; but it is something 
that does concern tickets and luggage. You 
remember last year there was a talk of our 
joining the Cravens in a trip to some warm 
climate for the Winter ?" 


" Well, I don't remember ; but I dare say 
there was." 

"Yes, there was ; and this year the plan 
lias been revived. Mr. and Mrs. Craven 
came round yesterday to talk about it. 
You see, there will be a capital opportunity 
this season," she pursues, narratively and 
eagerly, " because they know a gentleman 
who has a villa on the Lake of Como, and 
he wants to let it furnished in September. 
So we might spend the Autumn there, 
take it for three months, you know, and 
then at Christmas move on down to Rome 
and Naples, and return in the Spring. 
They brought us a photograph of the 
villa, and the gentleman's letter about 
terms, and all that ; and, in fact, papa and 
Mr. Craven very nearly arranged it all 
yesterday. I have been longing to see 
you and tell you all about it." 


" Thinking it would be a clieerful piece 
of news for me ? But I do not see tlie 
delioflit of ' ocean wide between us rollinsc ' 
for a whole long Winter. However, if 

you are pleased 1 daresay you'll enjoy 

yourself very mucli." 

" I shall, I hope," she answers, brightly, 
drawing near to him confidentially, as if 
more of the plan remained to be unfolded. 

" By'r leave !" yells a passing porter, 
trundlino^ a truck over the hem of her 

" Come out of the way of these fellows," 
says Duke, leading her to a seat by a book- 
stall. Just as she has settled herself and 
her flowing folds of snowy drapery on tlie 
bench, a stout lad}', with two bandboxes, a 
basket, and a bag, advances, and sinks 
breathlessly into the vacant seat next Luli, 


wliicli Duke was about to occupy. The 
lovers exchange comically piteous looks, as 
it is manifestly impossible to continue a 
confidential conversation across the portly 
person of the intervening stranger, to say 
nothing of the piled-up barrier of small 
baggage on her lap. 

" Holloa, Mayburne ! you here too ?" 
says a tall man, with long blonde hair and 
an eye-glass, who is sauntering by. 

"Most of the clan are here, I think," 
responds Duke, as the pair shake hands. 
Then, perceiving Luli, Mr. Lof tus bows low, 
removing his grey felt wide-awake with a 
graceful sweep ; and when, in the course 
of a few minutes, the stout lady, with an 
exclamation of " Porter ! porter ! guard !" 
leaps up from her seat, and, clutching her 
bandboxes and bags, makes a wild rush at 


a passing official, Mr. Loftus calmly slips 
into her place, and begins to converse 
with Luli in a deferentially admiring tone. 

Presently a bell rings, and the Holms- 
wood party are summoned to take their 
seats. Duke and Luli have no need to 
manoeuvre much to get into the same 
carriage ; they are manoeuvred for, and a 
good deal of trouble in that line is taken 
off their shoulders, as the world is general- 
ly kind to engaged couples — too kind 
sometimes, as lovers of laconic and re- 
served, and ladies of shy and retiring, 
natures feel when they perceive the eyes 
of a friendly and sympathetic world watch- 
ing for evidences of their mutual devotion. 

However, to be in the same saloon- 
carriage is not necessarily to have opportu- 
nities of private conversation. The corner 

VOL. I. X 


where Duke and Luli have found seats is 
shared by Mr. Lof tus, also by a third artist, 
and a lady who, being evidently minded to 
make herself agreeable to the three gentle- 
men, and having ascertained to which of the 
two professions represented in the party they 
belong — she being herself presumably of 
the other branch — asks each in turn how 
many pictures they have in the Academy 
this year ? As two of them have had their 
pictures rejected, and the third has a 
grievance against the Academy and does 
not send, this opening is less successful 
than it deserved to be. 

The saloon carriages afford their occu- 
pants the priceless privilege of being able 
to move about and change places accord- 
ingly as their inclinations tend. Thus long 
before they reach their destination, the 


party have followed the natural law of 
affinity. The two elements have separated ; 
Art lias its group, and Commerce its 
group, and each division is absorbed in 
that most tempting of mortal occupations 
— talking shop. 

At the station, where carriages are in 
waiting to conve}'' them to Holmswood, and 
where a row of heads, projecting from the 
windows of the ordinary portion of the 
train, manifest the interest the travellers 
proper take in seeing the garden-party 
alight, the elements get shaken up together 
again ; but in the beautiful park-like 
grounds around Holmswood Hall, once 
more the kindred spirits seek each other 
out. And there Duke and Luli, for the 
first time, find themselves able to renew 
their tete-a-iete. 

X 2 


" I tlaouglit I never should be able to get 
a word with you," exclaimed Luli half 
laughingly, half plaintively. " Talk of 
' oceans wide !' I am sure we have been as 
effectually separated to-day so far. Well, 
now, Duke, I was telling you about the 
plan of wintering in Italy, wasn't I ?" 

"Yes, and you were dwelling on the 
scheme with unflattering delight." 

" But, Duke, you would come too ? Of 
course you would ; think how delightful it 
would be ! The villa contains ample 
accommodation, they say ; you would come 
and stay with us there on a nice long visit, 
as long you possibly could. Why should 
you not ? I should not care a bit for it if 
you didn't go. I would not go without 


" Well, but I don't see how it's to be 


managed," he responded slowly and doubt- 
fully, yet evidently liking the idea. " I am 
afraid I cannot leave London for long:. To 
be sure I had made up my mind to take 
my holiday rather late, as I knew you 
would be going away somewhere. But 
— Italy is a long way! And, Luli, if I 
squander my substance on pleasure travel- 
ling, how are we to set up house-keeping 
when the time comes ?" 

" Oh, take your railway fare out of the 
kitchen furniture, and cut the drawing- 
room short for your hotel bills !" she 
pleaded coaxingly with a light happy 

" TVe must consult one of your numerous 
counsellors as to what articles of furniture 
may be most easily dispensed with," he said. 
"I'll think over your plan, Luli; but I'm 


not sure about being able to manage it." 
" We have to write and fix about taking 
the villa this week," she replied, ''so do 
make up your mind quickly, that's a dear 
boy !" 

The gardens of Holmswood are like one 
huge flower-bed, bright and variegated with 
living and moving flowers. The long 
smooth slopes and level lawns of green 
velvet turf are so covered with the ladies' 
bright light trailing dresses that but 
little of the green ground is visible. Be- 
tween the branches of the trees, through 
the shrubberies, behind the bushes, those 
bright colours gleam and glance. The men 
in their black coats are not in reality few, 
but they are so swallowed up and eclipsed 
in the radiance and amplitude of the ladies' 
attire, that they seem like a scanty swarm 


of black insects buzzing in and out among 
these various '* roses and lilies and daffy- 
down dillies." The fair sex do preponde- 
rate, of course ; was there ever an English 
party where they did not ? 

The luncheon summons all, black-coated 
bees and rainbow-coloured flowers, to a 
gorgeous dejetine?' laid out in a scarlet and 
white striped tent. To most of the seniors 
this appears the real work of the day ; to 
most of the juniors the real business only 
commences afterwards, when the whole 
party are set free to wander about the 
grounds at their own sweet wills. 

It is then that the bees and the flowers 
pair off as neatly and naturally as the beasts 
in Noah's Ark. The secluded parts of the 
shrubberies are full of stragglers in couples; 
there is a young couple in each of the 


summer-liouses ; a young couple in each of 
the little boats on the lake ; the pine-wood 
is full of errant pairs who get lost and 
seem in no hurry to find themselves. 

Duke and Luli make a conspicuous 
failure in their duty as engaged lovers. 
Luli calls down the criticism of Mrs. 
Grundy on her own unconscious head by 
walking with Mr. Loftus and dancing with 
him the first quadrille on the lawn. They 
are talking of Duke's talent and Duke's 
prospects for a great part of the time ; but 
this Mrs. Grundy does not know. Duke 
steals away to the smoking-room with a 
few congenial souls — the art editor of a 
rising illustrated periodical, an artist who 
has made his name, two others whose 
names are in process of making, and an art- 
critic who has done his best to assist the 


process in one case, and to put a sum- 
mary stop to it in the other. The lion lies 
down with the lamb, however; and the whole 
group amicably bury themselves in smoke 
and congenial conversation in the hazy and 
Havana-scented shades of the smoking- 
room, whence it takes all the energies of 
the hostess to disinter them at the hour 
when dancing begins, and every man is 
expected to do his duty. 

Glencairn is discovered placidly seated 
under a tree on the summit of a gentle 
elevation, with a good view of the grounds, 
smoking and surveying the scene. 

" Marius among the ruins of Carthage !" 
exclaims Kate Craven, coming upon him 
suddenly with her attendant cavalier. 
" How long have you been up here ?" 

" Only about an hour, I think." 


" Well, if this is your way of enjoying 
society, we won't disturb your felicity !" 
And Kate and her escort pass on. 

Glencairn presently descends and mixes 
in the festive throng ; joins in the mascu- 
line group of which his future son-in-law 
forms a part, for a time, and then gets up 
what Kate announces to Luli to be " quite 
a flirtation " with a lady who suits his taste, 
who has large thoughtful eyes, and a sym- 
pathetic presence, who listens well and 
does not say much. Glencairn, whe7i he 
talks — which by the way is not often — likes 
a good listener. 

In the evening the gardens are lit up, 
and supper is laid in the tent in ample 
time for the guests to partake thereof 
before the carriages are ordered to convey 
them back to the station. The supper is 


a merrier and a noisier meal than the 
di'jeu7iej\ There never was much starch 
and stiffness about the party, but what 
Httle there was is worn off their manners 
and customs now, as thoroughly as it is 
worn out of the dresses tliat rustled so 
freshly and crisply this morning, and hang 
so limply this evening. The girls are all 
flushed with dancing ; their eyes are bright, 
their curled or braided locks are straying 
in truant tresses from under their bonnets 
and over their temples; and several of 
them would be horrified if they could look 
in the mirror and see how the wliirl of the 
waltz had tilted their headgear out of place. 
The champagne is flowing free as the 
illuminated fountains that are playing out- 
side in the gleam of red green and panto- 
mime fires. Above all, the popping of 


cliampagne and seltzer corks, tlie snapping 
of crackers, tlie clatter of spoons and forks, 
rise the merry voices and the laughter as 
the fun grows fast and furious. 

*' I haven't seen much of you to-day, 
Duke. What have you been doing with 
yourself?" inquires Luli, bestowing her 
entire attention on him, to the utter 
neglect of the lobster-mayonnaise which an 
attentive friend on the other side has 
heaped upon her plate. 

"I've been doing good work, my pet," 
replies Duke, deeming it quite safe to be 
affectionate under cover of the clatter and 
the chatter going on all round. " I have 
been cultivating the friendship of a gentle- 
man on whose will and pleasure a good 
deal depends. You behold him over 
there," — nodding towards the end of the 


table, where the critic and the editor are 
alHed in a joint attempt to break into the 
citadel of an obdurate raised pie, whose 
walls of granite refuse to yield even to the 
combined attack. " Yes," continues Duke, 
" I think I have done a good stroke of 
business to-day ; and if you go to Italy, I'll 
join the party !" 

" That's jolly !" exclaims Kate Craven, 
overhearing these words from the opposite 
side of the table, where she is seated, and 
putting her head on one side to catch a 
glimpse of Duke and Luli between a barley- 
sugar temple and an epergne of flowers that 
intervene. " I'm so glad you'll join us ! 
"Won't we have fine times ! Mr. Glencairn ! 
Mr. Glencairn ! please come out of that 
brown study and fill my glass. Now, this 
is to drink to the happy re-union of the 


most attractive members of the present 
party on tlie sunny shores of Lake Como !" 

" Whom does that toast include, Miss 
Craven?" inquires Duke, through the 
trellis-work of the barley-sugar temple. 

" Not you, of course," retorts Kate. 

"/ am out of it, I'm afraid, Katie?" 
suggests Glencairn. 

" No, indeed you are not — we couldn't 
do without yoM," she replied, with frank 
friendliness, and added more demurely, with 
a mischievous sparkle in her eyes — " A 
skeleton at the feast is absolutely necessary 
to our contentment, and you make such a 
first-rate Bones !" 

Glencairn laughed aloud, and his some- 
what grim expression vanished in a broad, 
amused smile. Audacity never displeased 
him, and he liked " little Kate," who, 


having been half frightened at her own 
impudence, looked sideways at him, and 
then chorussed his laugh merrily, and well- 

" We cannot reach across the table to 
clink glasses," observed Luli, smiling under 
the drooping ferns and flowers of the tall 
epergne, "so it must be a case of 'Drink 
to me only with thine eyes !' I echo your 
toast, Kate — to our happy re-union on the 
Lake of Como !" 

The champagne creamed and frothed in 
the glasses, 

" With beaded bubbles winking at the brim." 

Snap went the crackers ; clatter went the 
forks ; Kate's clear laughter rang loud, and 
Lull's softer merriment echoed low, as they 
drank their toast and read their mottoes to 
each other across the table, and joined en- 


thusiastically with Duke and Glencairn in 
various schemes for making the most of 
the delights of a Winter season in Italy. 

So the plan became a settled thing, and 
from that hour there was no more doubt 
or discussion as to Duke's joining the 
party. It was certain that he would man- 
age to do so for at least a portion of the 

We seldom know when we take the most 
important step of our lives. Sometimes, it 
is true, we know or feel that we are on the 
threshold of a supreme crisis that will turn 
to our life's joy or our life's anguish ; but 
of tener it happens that the act that looked 
a promise or a threat leads to nothing, 
while the little seed we trod carelessly 
down in passing shoots up a giant ladder. 
It is curious to look back to the moment 


when we stood at the turuing-poiut of our 
lives, and think how utterly unconscious 
of that fact we were. The cross-roads lay 
before us ; and all our future rested in the 
balance of whether we turned to the right 
or to the left. And we, so unconscious of 
the import of our act, set foot carelessly on 
the path that led us to the goal — not 

How little we know ! how impenetrably 
the heavy mist of the future veils from us 
the outcome of the step we take till the 
turn has been irrevocably taken and the 
cross-roads left behind ! How little you 
thought, you whose career in life has been 
so bright and prosperous, on that day near 
two score years ago when you, — then young 
and struggling at the very foot of the 
ladder of Fame, — stood deliberating "to 

VOL. I. Y 


go or not to go.,?" concerning that visit to 
a country house which you deemed would 
be "slow" and "a bore," that the friend 
and patron who was to help you to all your 
success in life was waiting there ! 

And you, traveller of many lands, how 
little you knew, as you muttered anathemas 
on your tardy cabman while you gazed on 
the distant vanishing smoke of the train 
you had missed, — the train which was to 
have whirled you at express speed to the 
sea-port whence your vessel sailed that day, 
— that the cross-roads at which you stood 
were those of life and death ! That vessel 
sailed, and was never heard of more. 

You too, fair-haired and sad-eyed 
woman, with the silver streaks in that still 
bright and abundant hair, you at whom 
strangers gaze and say, " That woman has 
a history !" how little did you think that 


night — when you were dancing, a gay and 
happy girl, at a party that seemed to you 
precisely like all other parties of the season, 
and in the intervals of the dance glanced 
round the crowded room indifferently, and 
said languidly, " AVho is that odd-looking 
man over there? somebody new?" — that 
your pale sad face should bear witness in 
a life-long memory of him ? Yet the die 
was cast in the moment you turned your 
girlish, innocent, unclouded eyes on him, 
though you knew it not then, nor for many 
a day thereafter. 

Looking back, we see these things, and 
realise with a thoughtfulness, 

" JNIixed with sad wonder, in our heart," 

the import of the steps we took, not 
knowing !